


Rising Fatality

by Mystery_Name



Category: Ultimate Spider-Man (Cartoon 2012)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Angst, Finding Family, Fluffy, Forced Dependency, Gen, Includes ART!, Stockholm Syndrome, evil!Ultimates, mentions of rape/non-con, team coming together, villain!Ultimates, villains-raised-the-supposed-to-be-heroes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystery_Name/pseuds/Mystery_Name
Summary: A mercenary who wants to be left alone.A hunter who wishes to be set free.A guard who fights his inner self.A student whose powers are waning.A servant who wants to embrace his legacy.5 kids thrown together to become something more. To rise above the villains that have trained them.  If only they actually WANTED to, amirite? (Summary subject to change)





	1. Part 1 | Cheliceri

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME! 
> 
> So, as a lot of you may know, I have a crap-ton of Ultimate Spider-Man stories. Well, here's another to add to the pile! :D Only difference is most of these chapters are all pre-written, so updates and quality are likely to be up. Possible....hopefully. 
> 
> First off, welcome to "Fatality Rising" this is a fic I've been sitting on for a while and it's finally hatched!! I'm a very proud mother hen, indeed! 
> 
> But before we dive into this - possibly angst driven - story, there are a few things I would like to establish! 
> 
> [# 1 - Warnings. ]
> 
> Take note that this fic is rated Mature. 
> 
> WARNING: This fic WILL contain mature themes, such as mentions of Rape/Non-Con, Stockholm syndrome, abuse, and forced dependency. I will give forewarnings when any of the above mentioned will be making an appearance in the story. 
> 
> Note, nothing will be written graphically. It will be implied, assumed, or lightly, lightly written in the forms of a filtered flashback. I, in no way shape or form, would like to trigger anyone, and I know these topics are sensitive so I want you all to know what's going to happen. I don't want to catch anyone by surprise. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Ultimate Spider-Man nor any of its characters. The plot is all mine though. 
> 
> That is all. 
> 
> You may continue now! :D 
> 
> \- OfficialUSMWriter

_ Peter Parker POV _

The talking of the crowds came in like waves. Words that rolled and tumbled over each other, falling under the next syllable, tumbling and tumbling before hitting the floor in a great upheaval that was only drawn back to the receding sea of people where the process could start over again.

Only difference was that Peter liked the beach.

He didn't like crowds.

The smell of sweat and personal musk clung to every person in the intermingling crowd, producing a smell as powerful as it was unpleasant. Elbows bumped, skin rubbed skin, and it was so LOUD. It was water rushing in through his ears, riding clear up his spine where it weathered away his skull and left his brain soggy. For, what was probably the dozenth time, he wished he'd been given a different assignment. Somewhere more recluse and away from people, like in the middle of a jungle, or on top of a roof in the city where he could watch the crowds without having to suffer through it himself.

Unfortunately, he didn't get to decide his jobs. He did what he was told, and that was that.

So, gagging back the smell and keeping his expression as one of "boyish excitement," Peter allowed the waves to pull him back in. It was hot in Tuscan, Arizona. A lot hotter than the cooler temperatures back in New York. His own sweat was soaking his clothes and making everything itchy. Due to spending so much of his time outside getting rid of the stench of body odor, he had perspired almost completely through his suit. But at least he fits in with everyone else.

Politician, James R. Bushwick, was the one hosting the shindig Peter was suffering through now. Of all the days to hold the first public meeting of his program, he had to pick a day with the sweltering heat of 103 degrees. It was terrible. But, as he walked back inside after freshening his lungs, a cool brush of cold air swept over him to ease the flush on his skin. Most of the windows were open to compensate for the heat, and the air conditioners were going wild. The Westin La Paloma Resort, with its thousands of packed guests, were doing their best.

Huffing irritably and tugging at his collar, Peter glanced idly at his watch as he walked up the marble stairs leading to the main lobby. 10:52. The meeting would begin in 8 minutes.

He smoothed the navy jacket of his suit and surveyed the room, nonchalantly glossing over the hoards of people standing around. A few octogenarian friends were chatting at one of the tables, while the other was occupied by a nervous group of high schoolers, each sporting the same FSAP badges as Peter. In the little waiting lounges below them, more students lingered, each buzzing with excited chattering and nervous twitching, alternating between fanning their faces and sneaking glances at their watches and the clocks on the wall.

Peter wiped a dot of sweat from his forehead and mimicked their nervous fidgeting by tugging at his jacket and glanced at his watch again. 10:55.

5 more minutes.

He watched as the anxious students reached the same conclusion as he and began packing up their things. Peter followed their example, taking deep calming breaths as he grabbed the small string-back pack provided by the cooperation, sporting the rocket-ship logo of FSAP, and merged in with the growing crowd of teenagers heading toward the conference room. The buzz in the room escalated. Peter tried not to let it bug him.

The closer to the doors he got, the more the crowd swelled, the more feet he accidentally stepped on. He stumbled, tripping slightly over another's foot, but caught himself on the arm of the girl next to him. She whirled around, pulling her arm back, and Peter grinned sheepishly.

"Oh, sor - sorry. I - I tripped."

She caught her gait again smoothly, nerves breaking way to reveal a kind smile. "Oh, that's okay. You're fine." She told him. He thanked her and they walked on. After a moment of glancing at him through the corner of her eye, she gave a small smile and asked, "Nervous?"

Peter rubbed his forehead with his jacket sleeve and gave her a wobbly smile. "That obvious?" he asked, adjusting his collar again.

The girl shrugged politely. "I think we're all nervous," she told him. "It's just," a jump bounced in her step suddenly, eyes brightening as she bit her lip excitedly, "I - I can't wait to begin. I've been studying  _all_  year to get into this program."

Peter couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, adding a small chuckle, "Yeah, me too. Lot's of late nights and coffee,"

The girl shared his laugh, "Oh yeah, lots and _lots_  of coffee. I think I've come down with an addiction if we're being honest." They laughed again. It was a few seconds later though when she sobered suddenly. "I just hope it's all worth it."

"I'm sure it will be," Peter assured her, eyes dropping to the girls' nametag. "Alya...Wait...Alya Bushwick? Aren't you..."

Alya ducked her head, face flushing. "Yeah," she sighed. "James Bushwick is my dad."

Peter let his jaw fall open. "Wait...if he's your dad...then - then can't he just let you into the program?"

Alya frowned at that, turning away hotly in a way that had Peter believing he overstayed his welcome. "Well, I didn't want to  _just_  be let in the program, you know? I wanted to earn it, like everybody else."

Peter dropped his eyes on the floor. "Yeah...I guess..."

It was quiet between them. Then Alya took a deep breath, "Well, it was nice meeting you," she squinted at his nametag, "Ted. I hope you get in the program."

Peter smiled and stuck out his hand, "Yeah, you too Alya. I'm sure your dad is proud." That seemed to brighten her spirits. She smiled again, took his hand, and they shook. Instantly, her face pinched and she withdrew it. Peter ducked his head sheepishly and wiped his hands on his pants.

"S-sorry," he stammered. "Sweaty hands."

Alya's smile was tighter but no less genuine. "Happens to the best of us," she said graciously, and politely wiped her hands off on her pants.

As they entered the conference room, Peter stopped near a trashcan and slyly pulled off the thin, near translucent gloves on his hands. The small, almost indistinguishable bubbles on its surface were all popped and - now - empty. Okay, maybe he hadn't  _just_ been outside for some fresh air. He smoothly rejoined the crowd.

The room was large and wide, teeming with rows and rows of chairs that were steadily being filled. Peter joined the row set aside for the students admissioning for the program. Minutes ticked on as the room filled to its max, almost overflowing with camera crews and spectators, administrators, and sponsors. The smell was almost as bad as outside.

Three giant screens hung from the walls, displaying the sciencey logo of FSAP. Another minute passed and a voice spoke through the speakers in the walls.

_"Would all joining member of the public meeting please take their seats. Will all joining members of the public meeting please take their seats. The meeting will begin in 10 minutes."_

Peter snuck a glance down the row where Alya had struck up a conversation with another of the competitors for the program. She wiped a layer of sweat off her face, grin painfully tight, and Peter looked away.

Before he knew it, the meeting was starting. Mr. Bushwick came on stage, igniting booming applause from the crowd. He drawled into his opening speech about the founding of his program, the Future Scientists of America Program, and its goals for the future. Somewhere in the middle of it, he gestured to his daughter in the crowd with a proud smile, "And all of my inspiration comes from my girl, Alya. If it wasn't for her and the bright intellect she demonstrates for the bright students of this generations, then FSAP would never have begun."

Alya blushed under the praise, but that might've just been her flushed skin.

They moved on to the awards. Peter straightened eagerly, leaning on the edge of his seat with the rest of the students, as James announced the 20 young members joining FSAP. His fingers tingled, but that could've just been a bit of residue from the gloves.

His alias, Ted Cartaway, was never called, but he still clapped when Alya Bushwicks' name lit the screen and she joined her father on stage. Peter's sharp eyes could see the sweat still budding on Alya's brow and the pale hue of her countenance beneath the lights. Under any other eyes it would've gone unnoticeable, but with Peters exquisite sight, he could see the faintest hue of purple bulging from her veins.

Alya stopped by her dad, breathless.

"Congratulations, Alya," he said, positively beaming. "You earned it."

Alya smiled and reached to shake her father's hand when she swooned. Peter gasped with the crowd when Alya stumbled and collapsed in a heap. Her dad was bent over her body in an instant, hands running to find the cause of the fall, before crying out for an ambulance. Phones were already out, but they would do no good.

No ambulance would get here in time.

Peter stared at the sprawled body of the girl he'd met in the hall, already knowing how the poison was burning through her veins. Within a few more seconds, it will have reached her heart. A minute went by, and Peter knew Alya Bushwick was dead.

Mr. Bushwick was in hysterics, still shouting for an ambulance. But Peter didn't feel any sorrow. His eyes glistened wetly as he dug his fingers into his arm, rousing a few good horrified tears, but he felt as empty as the body on the stage.

He had no grief to spare for Alya Bushwick.

* * *

 

It took forever to get back to the hotel.

Peter had to be as careful with the police swarming the Westin La Paloma Resort. As soon as he could though, he slipped past the police and made his way down the stone steps to the parking lot below. He dumped his badge and coat in the trash, just enough that it was peeking through. Anyone with a trained pair of eyes should be able to see it.

He found his car waiting for him in the corner. A simple, black Nisson with the keys already in the ignition. Peter jumped in and started the engine, and within minutes he was cruising out onto the roads of Tuscan, leaving the chaos of the night well behind him. Once Mr. Bushwick got the message and understood, he'd probably call the investigation off to get answers where they'd  _really_ matter.

By the time Peter got back to the hotel he was actually staying at, the Westward Look Resort and Spa, he was extremely eager for a shower. He parked the car a distance from his building and walked the rest of the way. He found his room, 182 in building 12, climbed the small stone steps up to the first floor and slipped his key card in the slot. The cool conditioning of the fan greeted him like a wonderfully cold hug. With a deep sigh, he pulled the tie from his collar and tossed it on the bed, doing the same to his sweat-drenched shirt.

Bare-chested, he glanced yearningly toward the shower. He still felt sticky and gross, and it'd do wonders for his mood to wash it all off. Instead, though, he begrudgingly put his own jacket on and sat at the desk, buttoning it up as he rebooted his laptop. The circuits hummed and given a moment the screen lit up. It had its own unique systems and completely disregarded the wifi of the hotel as it synced to the only other computer it was linked to.

The screen flashed on and a skeletal mask started at Peter. The two-hollow rings staring through the black sockets regarded him cooly, stoic under the pale structure of the mask.

"How'd it go?" it asked.

"All went according to plan," Peter told him. "Alya Bushwick is dead, as ordered."

"And you left evidence toward homicide?"

Peter thought to the poisoned glove in the hotel and clothes in the trash. It irked him just thinking about it. He'd rather burn it. Leave nothing behind to suggest foul play. "Yes, just as you told me to."

Taskmaster nodded, the nod he made when he was somewhat satisfied. "Good. Now he knows we mean business. I'm sure the council will be hearing about it tonight. He'll pay what is owed to me if he wants his new program to flourish."

Peter stayed silent, hiding his clutched hands under the desk. He really didn't like leaving a trail. It made him feel sloppy and unprofessional. He knew why he had to, of course. Mr. Bushwick wasn't the pure man the media made him out to be. He hired mercenaries to kill and collect what he needed to gain the money and sponsors to support his program. It just so happened he "forgot" to pay said mercs. Killing off his daughter, inciting homicide, would cause some serious investigation. It might make the girl a martyr in a much uglier game, but it shone a light on Mr. Bushwick, and as soon as the rest of the stashed evidence was found by the authorities, everything Mr. Bushwick worked for would crumble.

That's why no one crossed Taskmaster. If he didn't get what he was owed, he paid it back in full.

"Everything went according to plan," Peter repeated. "I'll be on the first flight back to New York."

"Don't wait for the morning flight," Taskmaster ordered. "I want you headed back now. There is a flight for Missouri tonight. Get on it, then head on another for New York."

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. As you wish."

The screen went black.

He wasted no time and got up to pack his bags. While he  _did_  have to leave traces of himself him and at the resort, he didn't have to do the same here. By the time he's checking out, he'll be untraceable. He didn't mind taking the night flight. The sooner he was out of here, the better. Arizona was unbelievably hot, and crowded, and not exactly in his top 10 ideal locations. Besides, with the upturned hornets' nest he left at the resort, it'd be faster and safer to go tonight.

He quickly wiped the bathroom clean of his existence. Once it was satisfactory, he stopped near the door to turn off the lights but hesitated when he looked into the mirror. An unfamiliar face stared back. Blonde hair, green eyes, freckles on the bridge of his nose. Along with the white shirt and slacks, he looked as though he belonged in some Honors program...or on a golf field.

_Golfing with grenades! Four!_

He snorted humorlessly and stalked out of the bathroom, flicking the switch off. He kept the latex gloves on though, taking extreme measures to wipe everything he touched, even as he walked out of the door. As soon as he was off the premise of the hotel, the camera feed would continue normally and he'd be gone without a trace.

It didn't take long to officially check himself from the hotel, and before long he was cruising in the black car once more, heading toward the airport. He'd ditch the vehicle before he got there though. There's no doubt the authorities will have caught and looked up the license plate number as he drove from the resort. Besides, everyone who associated with Alya before her death would be interrogated. Once they realized that A-student Ted Carthaway was not present and accounted for, they'd be gunning for a ghost.

As he drove, Peter pried the blonde wig off, and at a stop-light, he dug the contact lenses from his eyes. He put a coat over the white shirt, but there wasn't much he could do for the khakis. It's not like they were uncommon to wear anyway.

Getting through the airport and acquiring his plane ticket went off without a hitch, and after a measly boring hour, he went up to the terminals and boarded the plane.

Buckling himself into his seat, he leaned far back into the chair, resting his head on the back. Outside the lights of the desert city twinkled brightly, doing their best to replace the stars the smog covered. He crinkled his nose and turned away. He definitely would not miss the heat. Why people would live in a place so unnaturally hot was beyond him.

* * *

 

The plane ride to Missuouri takes a tedious 2 hours and 30 minutes. He doesn't stay the night, and boarded the next plane to New York. ETA – another boring 2 hours.

* * *

 

When they finally touch down again, Peter was ready for a long nap and everything on the menu of the nearest fast-food joint. He could only eat so many packaged peanuts before he banned nuts from his diet altogether.

Stepping onto the street and hailing a New York cabbie felt so second-nature, that if Peter didn't know any better, he'd say it almost felt like home. Admittedly, he didn't get to spend as much time in his Native state as he liked, so it was still an ... _appealing_ , so to say, experience. Between the bustling streets, flashing advertisements, and gaping tourists, it was familiar. Good. He could understand it.

Which made it all the more a shame when he didn't get to stay for long. In any other circumstances, he would have booked a room at a hotel of his choice and spent the evening reconnecting with the city. That would have been the plan if Taskmaster hadn't paged him on his second flight, ordering him back to the base immediately.

Which meant his next stop was the harbor.

The taxi that takes mercy on him is unkempt, gross, and rotting with stink. The cabbie herself grumbles about his destination and wreaks havoc on his ears by complaining to him about her lifestyle, funds, her ex-girlfriend, and a whiny uncle who was staying with her for a few weeks, until they were pulling up near the docks.

He's thankful because he was  _this_  close to taking his gun out to stop the talking. Why did people talk so much anyway? It's was irritating.

Peter doesn't thank her when he gets out. He doesn't listen to her when she yells at him for slamming her door, tosses a few bills through the window to cover the trip, picks up his few bags and walks wordlessly toward the warehouses built up along the docks.

Why it was always a warehouse, Peter can't figure out. There were several occasions where he wanted to speak up and tell Taskmaster that the location was cliché and predictable and that any self-righteous, educated teenager could find the base entrance without a hitch. But his last punishment for questioning his boss, while it had been years ago, was still a fresh, painful memory. One that he'd rather not indulge again. So, it was left unsaid. The warehouse hideaways stayed.

He spots a specific edifice, older than most, and completely abandoned by the shipyard. It's not too big, but not too small. Weathered grey walls, dusty windows, and an open skylight at the top. The door handle, on the other hand, while old and grey, is completely clean and smooth with oiled joints.

Peter closes the door behind him and strides toward the center, not at all concerned about the discrete alarm system within its structure, nor did he worry about the sketchy homeless bum lying just outside with a gun hidden in his coat. If anyone who wasn't supposed to be in here stumbled upon the warehouse, they'd be taken care of by the agent's Taskmaster hired to guard it – whether through a threat from a homeless skeever claiming territory, or a bullet in the head.

There are several shipping containers stored inside. Most of them are simply decorative. He singles out one of them in the corner, identical to the others except for the white letter on the bottom - 111 - 12018. Habitually, he finds the hidden keypad on the container's side, pushes in the code, and the door clicks. He opens it, steps inside, and the door locks behind him. Descending down a well-kept staircase, he steps down into a large metal hangar where underwater jets are in wait for him.

They're sleek, state-of-the-art machines, with a hazy grey color to blend in with the water and clean-cut sides and propellers designed to slice through underwater currents. Learning how to work them during his initial training was one of the most grueling of his tasks, having to train in frigid water, swim distances he wouldn't have been able to do before, and ways to fend off any dangerous sea -creatures (as few and far between as they were). But it had also been the most exciting. He always looked forward to it when the jets were upgraded or redesigned, that way he could learn to use them all over again. The basic controls were usually the same, but Taskmaster liked his agents to be thoroughly prepared and efficient with every tool they had at their disposal. Working the jets was - probably - one of the brightest parts of his training.

They jet purrs to life as soon as Peter slides into the cockpit. He feels the machine hum energetically under his fingertips, and brighten as every display and console lights up. Peter ran his hand over the smooth joystick, thinking about the hours out in the sea where he tore through the water and started up the systems. When the guidance systems started up, he punched a code and flashed the red warning sign for takeoff.

On cue, the hangar outside sealed off, and the other two jets within the room were sealed into place. A section of the wall fell in front of him, and water rushed in. Peter waited till the room was completely submerged before he ushered the jet forward and they shot out into the open sea.

The waters of the bay were far from impressive. Grossly so. Junk floated through the water like a bunch of dead corpses, and any sea life that dared attempt to live there looked like something that belonged in a radioactive lagoon. Peter maneuvered the craft farther out till they were in the open sea, and allowed himself to relax.

The base was set at a secret location far off from the shores of New York, on a remote island unregistered in any system - even SHIELD's. Taskmaster liked the isolation for his mercenary school. Said it kept all those righteous do-gooders off his back, which Peter understood. He couldn't count how many missions turned sour because some pompous hero decided to get involved. If only they weren't so  _blasted_  hard to kill, and so numerous. Like a bunch of cockroaches.

It'd be another 30 minutes before he made it back to base. Might as well use that time for a little sleep. Peter set the jet to autopilot and got comfortable in his seat. It wasn't memory-foam, but it was more comfortable than most of the things he's slept on.

He closed his eyes and let the humming of the jet sing him to sleep.

And was opening his eyes again when a sudden beeping went off.

He scowled, crinkling his nose, but shut off the timer. 20 minutes had flown by rather quickly, he didn't feel as though he had slept at all. The base would be coming up in 10 minutes.

Peter scrounged himself up and straightened in his seat. He retook the wheel and linked into the bases frequencies as soon as he was within range, requesting permission to land inside the base. He was granted instantly. Up ahead, a high wall of metal appeared within the water, the beginnings of an immense structure that stretched above the surface. Around it, the cropping's of the island rose from the ground and spanned across the sea floor, rising higher and higher where it joined the sun above. The metal wall opened and Peter flew inside, touching down on the awaiting landing pad.

He turned the jet off and waited till all the water had emptied from the hangar before he walked out. He didn't grab his bags.

Outside a small coterie of agents were already waiting for him. One went inside to look over the jet, another to gather his bags, and another which stayed put holding a duffel bag, of which she handed to Peter.

"Taskmaster wishes to see you in his office, Cheliceri" the agent instructed, voice deep and slightly muffled behind regulated skull-mask that marked her as one of Taskmaster's students.

Peter nodded curtly and the strode out of the room, the duffel hanging from his shoulder. He stopped for a few minutes to get into his uniform. Its base color was a dark grey, almost black, with a strip of red on the arms and his legs. A white skull-spider sat on his chest, arms hugging around his body, slightly similar to his skull mask. His dark, red-tinted lenses put a hue on everyone who walked past. Peter breathed deeply, feeling as though he was putting on a second skin. Ah, how he missed his suit.

Undercover jobs weren't bad, but he hated how he had to forgo his uniform for the sake of the mission. He liked having it on when he took out his targets. It was his solace, his work clothes. Khakis and business shirts didn't cover it. Besides, appearance was important. There was nothing like seeing the fear in your target's eyes when they noticed your symbol, recognizing you for who you are. Peter, as Cheliceri, had built himself up a pretty good reputation - one that he was quite proud of.

Sliding his knives into their hidden sheaths and the retractable bow-staff into the electromagnetic hold on his back, he returned to the hall outside, journeying to the center where Taskmaster's office waited. He stopped by the door, took a deep breath, and knocked. The light outside went from yellow to green and the door clicked. Peter stepped inside.

Taskmaster was waiting, garbed in his iconic skull mask and white hooded cape. His fingers were clasped in front of him as he looked over a mission report on his desk. He didn't even look up when Peter entered the room.

"Front and center," He ordered, and Peter followed his instructions and centered himself in front of the desk.

A minute passed, he finished reading the paper, and set it aside to finally regard Peter.

"Mission report."

"Target was taken out as requested. Traces of homicide were left at the location of the crime, and all evidence of leading it back to HQ was destroyed and wiped." Peter listed, back straight.

Taskmaster nodded, stoic in his stance and demeanor. "Good," he finally said. "Anything else to report."

Peter shook his head, "No Sir, everything went according to plan."

Taskmaster nodded again, "Now he knows that I mean business when we strike a deal." He leaned back in his chair, pulling up a news channel where stories were already going wild about the death of Bushwicks daughter. Peter stared at the image of a happy smiling girl next to her father, both wearing the same excited grins. The spokeswoman covering the story was talking with a cool countenance, due the volume turned off, Peter read her lips instead.

 _"-the tragic death of Alya Bushwick, the daughter of the leading science entrepreneur, Mr. Bushwick, during Mr. Bushwicks honorary ceremony for his recently founded FSAP. The Future Scientists of America Program. However, while the police are withholding news about the event, there have been hints that this incident might not have been an accident. Footage from the resorts shows a mysterious figure leaving the West La Resort mere minutes after Alya Bushwicks deaths. Officials have yet to confirm or deny this claims, but numerous witness reports claim that the multi-million dollar heir was –"_  The news turned off again with a click of a button.

"Mission complete. You may return to your room." Taskmaster said.

Peter stood up, lifted a clenched fist to his chest, the gesture of respect taught to the mercenary students to their superiors, and turned to leave. But he was only a foot away from the door when Taskmaster added at his back.

"One more thing," Peter turned around. "It's time you began the next level of your training. Tomorrow you will participate in a new training diagnostic I've prepared. Failure to complete this diagnostic will result in dire consequences."

Peter nodded once more. "Yes Sir," With that Taskmaster gestured for him to leave, and he did. He strode past the guards positioned outside the office and through the halls. He passed the numerous training rooms where classes were in grueling session. His gait slowed as he neared the locker rooms set outside one of the many gym-type rooms.

His heart hammered and his fist tightened by his side. Just looking at that room sent an unpleasant clench in his stomach. It irked him, and he had the sudden urge to look over his shoulder to make sure Taskmaster wasn't looming behind him, urging him on with those hollow yellow eyes. Hands still clenched, Peter straightened his shoulders and strode past the locker room doors. He swallowed thickly when he was past, and hurried the rest of the way to his room, barely stopping himself from full-on running. Inside, he slammed the door shut and collapsed at the end of his bed, letting his head fall in his hands.

His hands felt sweaty and clammy and his heart hammered angrily away in his ribs. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

Taskmaster would be upset if he saw him like this. If he thought Peter wasn't past that incident then it'd make his training all the more grueling. Besides, Peter  _was_  past it. He WAS! It was just – sometimes it just crept up on him. Especially after being gone for so long. He just needed some sleep, that's all.

He set his weapons on the bedside table and replaced his uniform with a pair of dull cotton pajamas. He laid his head down, body tucked lightly in the blanket, hand underneath the pillow, and closed his eyes.

Anybody watching wouldn't have noticed the gun tucked under the pillow, or the way his hand tightened around the metal shaft as he turned his back to the door.

* * *

 

**First chapter, done! BOOM!**

**Aight, there it is! Chapter 2 will be out next week! See you there ;)**

**Below is a picture of Peter and his costume!**

 

     

**Guys, I'm so excited to get this story out!!!! I've got so much planned. See ya at next weeks update! ;)**

**\- OfficialUSMWriter out!**


	2. | Zver

Ava Ayala POV

The ground was soft this morning.

The jungle smelled of the recent rainfall, and she filled her lungs with it. Drinking in the sharp scent of the foliage, the moss-covered branches, and water-saturated low-hanging vines.

The calls of the inhabitants of the jungle as they awoke from their wet slumber and the rustle of the nocturnal animals as they slept for the day, was like a whetstone to her senses. Sharpening them to their brink till to her desire to stalk the grazing okapi just a few meters to her right was so intense, she didn't think she would've been able to resist temptation if her master wasn't there with her.

He'd gone ahead just minutes ago, now hidden with the thickly grown fern bush several yards from her with leaves so dense, she wouldn't have known he was even there if she hadn't seen him slip into it moments before.

She crouched low to the ground, half-hidden behind the high-rise of a tree's roots and a sunken ditch, as she waited for the signal. Despite every instinct in her body telling her to climb the tree and hunt for herself, and the amulet sitting heavy on her neck, warm and glowing and telling her to go somewhere else, she stayed in rapture attention.

For there was something else in the jungle. The okapi was not their prey today.

Farther ahead of her Master, she could hear soft, scuffling footsteps, voices talking in excited hushed whispers that sounded as loud to her it was like they were talking next to her ear. Only a few words stood out to her, though. Site, dig up, and artifact.

The African archeologist, Dr. Emeka, would be their prey today.

Despite her master permitting her to hunt the night before, Ava felt a wild urge to turn around and find something else to wet her claws with. They archeologist group was uninteresting and dismal, and she didn't want to waste her time going for a prey she didn't even care for.

Besides, the tiger inside was impatient.  _She_ was impatient. Being so close to this wildlife was like a euphoric drug to her systems. She wanted - needed - to run and hunt and  _survive._  Waiting only made her angry.

But she chided herself, knowing that her Master would not be pleased with such thoughts. He wanted her to stay put until he gave the signal, so that's what she would do. She'll  _wait,_ just as he wants her to.

Ava dug her claws into the dirt, grounding herself to the Earth, so she didn't jump anyway.

Within the fern, a figure moved and she saw her master peer out. She instantly perked up, latching onto his movements with fervance. He gestured tightly to the high rising tree to her left and made another slow gesture upward. Ava nodded back at him, orders clear.

Up the tree, follow the prey, stay hidden.

Her limbs buzzed eagerly, but she goes slowly. Maneuvering through the thick foliage of the underbrush until she got to the tree and climbed up it quickly and with ease. Her claws sunk easily into the thick, wet branches as she climbed higher and higher till she was in its lower canopy. If she went up too high the branches wouldn't support her weight.

Properly hidden, she followed the voices as they trekked through the jungle. Jumping silently from tree to tree when necessary.

Her progress isn't picked up by any of the explorers and she preened, thinking of how pleased her Master will be.

As the group slowed, Ava began to descend till she's just above them. From there she can smell them. The stench humans carried with them no matter where they came from.

She's so close. Her Master should give her the signal. The group was arguing, hunched over some frazzle paper with their backs to her. It'd be so easy. So simple.

Maybe if she just –

She scooted forward but smacked into a low hanging branch where a hidden Scarlet Macaw flew from its perch frantically, squawking in panic. She winced.

Below, the group looked up and she quickly fell back into the shadows.

"What was that?"

She can feel her Masters glare on her back and hunkered down on the branch, hiding her face in the moss. That was bad on her part. She should have just listened. Her Master will not be pleased.

The group is more cautious when they move on. More quiet and sure-footed, and Ava knows its her fault.

Properly sobered, she followed them within the trees, more subdued. A little ways ahead, a monkey in the trees nearby noticed her and bared its teeth. She glared at it, a growl bubbling in her throat that she swallows down. The consequences wouldn't be good if she indulged,so she ignored the monkey and moved on.

The group halted again, this time in excitement. They were looking at something on their paper, then at something in the tree's, talking back and forth fervently.

Somewhere below, farther behind, the call of a macaw whistled through the underbrush. There was a slight up-turned note toward the end, one that Ava instantly recognized.

Her excitement came rushing back and she maneuvered quickly around the branch, letting her growl rip from her throat as she jumped and landed on the ground, directly in front of the group. Surprised, they all shrieked and backed away, huddling into a tight-knit group that only made keeping track of them easier. She stalked forward, hissing at them again.

A woman dressed in the proper attire for a jungle stepped forward, pointing a long-barrelled gun in her face. "Stay right there!" she ordered.

Ava didn't like guns. A weak man's defense.

She growled and surged forward, too quick to give them the chance to pull the trigger, and grabbed the gun. Her claws dug into the metal, tearing it away in strips, as her other hand gripped the barrel and flung it over her shoulder. She grabbed the woman by the arm, digging her claws deep into her bicep until she was screaming and blood was seeping through Ava's fingers.

Her free hand inched toward the woman's throat, straight for the jugular.

"стой, отступать" a voice berated from the shadows and Ava quickly let the woman go and hastily withdrew. She distanced herself a few feet but kept her eyes trained toward her prey. Her Master appeared, walking out from among the walls of the jungle, tall and looming, clad the garb of a hunter. The spear in his hand dipped lightly toward the ground as he walked forward, and he was grinning past the thick black mustache boxing his chin.

"Good, my Tiger," he approved, voice thick with his Russian accent as he stepped in front of her.

Ava kept her eyes on the group but felt a happy flutter. Perhaps she wasn't in trouble after all. Their hunt wasn't over yet, there was still time to get back on her Master's good side.

Her Master turned from her and regarded the people this time, "Dr. Emeka."

The group didn't move for a long second, then a dark-skinned man pulled himself slightly out from their ranks. He clutched the book in his hands, shifted his stance nervously, but kept his head held high. "Who are you?" His English was good.

"I am a Hunter," her Master answered simply, "And you have an important piece to my next hunt." He held out his hand, "hand it over now and perhaps I won't harm you."

Their prey clutched his book even harder. "I – I don't know what you're talking about."

Her Master walked forward, lifted his spear and centering it over the man's chest. When the tip met his skin, her Master pushed it in slightly so it poked through the shirt, pricking the skin underneath. He outstretched his other hand, and the man flinched.

"The book," he said.

Their preys' fingers clasped it harder, tightening around the band as if it were fused to his skin. Ava can see resistance in his eyes, a fire. She looks up to her Master, curious of his reaction.

Rather than anger, he smiled, all fang and teeth like he's snarling, but its amused. "Мой тигр" he says, and Ava stepped behind him, just into his line of sight. The point of his spears leaned away from Dr. Emeka and hovered over his stiff comrades. "Then perhaps we thin the herd," he said. "Not so strong when you're alone."

The point settled on a handsome young man peaking behind the Doctors shoulders. Ava eyed the way the other man held to the Doctors shirt, fingers entwined tightly into the fabric. Perhaps their prey had a mate.

"That one," her Master says. "Убийство. Медленный"

Ava jumped forward on his order, faster than either the Doctor or his mate could properly respond to. Her fingers curl around flesh and she dragged the mate from away from their prey, digging her claws into skin until blood was seeping beneath her fingers once more. She threw the mate on the ground and stalked forward, the scent of blood sharp and inviting.

The man scrambled back, fingers clamoring through his pockets till a small knife was produced, of which he pointed at Ava. It's almost enough to make her laugh. She bats the knife away with ease and has her claws over his throat within seconds, poised just above the jugular.

"Wait! Stop!" Dr. Emeka shouted at her back and all but threw the book at her Master's feet. "Here, take it. All my notes are in there. Please, just – just leave him alone."

Her Master stopped her with a quick word, "стой," and picked up the book, thumbing through its pages. An amused hum prowled past his throat, pleased at what he found inside.

"отступать," he says and Ava obeys. The mate scrambled to his feet once she backed away and ran quickly back to the group, where Dr. Emeka took him in his arms to look worriedly over the deep gashes.

"Good," her Master grinned and tucked the book against the strap across his chest. "A pleasure," he said, turning and walking back into the shadows of the jungle. Ava followed behind him but halted when he stopped just a few feet away.

"Убить их всех" he ordered, "Kraven leaves no loose ends."

Ava grinned, nodded, and turned back. She was back on the group before any of them knew what was happening. Kraven the Hunter walked past the lines of tree's, ignorant of the following screams.

* * *

* * *

Ava watched the blood run off her hands and into the bloodying stream. It'd attract the dangers of the water within minutes, and every other blood-lusting creature of the forest, so she'd have to wash up quick. There'd be no salvaging her costume though. The white, tiger print shirt was stained nearly all red at the front, now becoming a brown muddy color from where'd it had dried on the lining of fur around the collar. There were a few torn places where the group had tried to slice her with a knife, but the wounds were thin and would be no trouble at all. Besides, she had gotten them  _back_ with her own knife, the hunting one strapped to her back.

Despite her hair being short, hanging just at her jawline, it was dirty and knotted from their trek through the jungle, and clotted with flecks of blood too. Her Master, Kraven, had cut it years ago when he'd first saved her. Said that it only got in the way. Still, deep,  _deep_ down inside - where she dared think such a thing - she kind of wished she still had it long.

She scrubbed her hands until the blood was gone, doing the same with her face, and hurried back to their set-up camp where Kraven sat around a built fire, skinning the okapi she'd been allowed to get on the way back. Ava stood opposite of him over the fire until he nodded, and she sat.

Wordlessly, he tossed the separated meats at her and she set to work preparing the food. While they ate food raw sometimes, it seemed Kraven was in a celebratory mood. Ava skewed the meet with sharpened sticks, previously stripped of all bark, and stuck them above the fire, supported on the spit she'd made earlier.

With the new pelt in hand, Kraven got up to stretch it out to dry and returned to the campfire. He sat cross-legged, eyes set and grim, and Ava knew she was going to get a-talkin' to. Probably about her slip-up earlier. Fingers digging slightly in the meat, Ava refrained from throwing the meat into piles. She kept her eyes on the fire to keep herself from thinking about it, despising the feeling of dread. She thought she had redeemed herself, but apparently not.

Only a few minutes passed before Kraven finally began. "Слушать," he said, and Ava turned to him, attentive and waiting. Her fingers curled into her pants. But what she hears next it not what she's expecting. "Tomorrow, we will be heading back to New York."

Ava balks, staring at him in surprise, then recoiled, nose crinkling.

New York? That disgusting, hard-concrete mess? It smelled terrible, it was too loud, and flashy, and the people there were atrocious. She knew it was important to know how to hunt in every different type of land, but the cities were the worst.

Her Master's hard glare stopped her from saying any of that though, and she focused grimly on spinning the meat over the fire.

"You will be performing a test," he continued and this time Ava does snarl. It was an accident. She'd let it slip. But her rebuke comes all the same. Kraven backhanded her roughly, snapping her head to the side. She grimaced, cheek stinging painfully, but withheld everything else. If she cried or made any indication toward pain, the punishment would be worse. And – and she deserved to be punished anyway. She stepped out of line. Kraven knew what was best and she had to listen. The hit had been rightly earned.

She hunkered down in apology, keeping her eyes on the ground. "Прости меня, Учитель" she whispered.

"прощенный" he responded and Ava relaxed.

"You  _will_ undergo test in New York, Zver" he repeated, and his sharps eyes are like knives in her skin. "Do not fail, or you will be punished.  _Severely_. We leave tomorrow."

Ava nodded. "I will not fail, Master."

He nodded back. "Good. Meat is ready."

Ava took the cue and retrieved the meat over the spit, handing them both to Kraven. He took a bite of one, despite its heat, and nodded appropriately. Satisfied, he tossed the other one over to her with the order to eat and she happily obliged.

But going to bed that night, he ordered Ava to sleep outside, took her beloved Tiger amulet, and collared her to the tree near his tent. "Punishment," he told her. "For mistake."

She fell asleep under the canopy, already dreading the trip to New York, and the test she'd have to complete.

* * *

* * *

The next morning, Ava made quick work of cleaning up their camp on her Master's wish to leave early. Once they were all packed, they trekked quickly through the jungle, running most of the way, until they hit civilization. After that, he obtained their travel plans and they drove the rest of the way to the airport. She'd been given clean clothes to wear, normal clothes that made her wish for her hunting apparel. But Kraven had given them to her so she must be grateful.

They made it to the airport and it was a tiresome task of refraining from growling and hissing at people when they got close. Kraven wanted to stay on the down low, so that's what she must do. No matter how much she desired to attack and swipe at any person who strayed near. She eyed them skeptically though, hard enough that it drove most people away.

On one occasion when Kraven left for a few minutes, a boy, despite Ava's demeanor, approached her. He didn't even get to introduce himself before Ava was growling at him and baring her teeth. He'd probably only meant to ask where the bathrooms were, but he backed up very quickly and didn't look at her again.

Good.

When they boarded the plane it was in First Class. Ava appreciated Kraven keeping her from people, she couldn't stand to sit in the full-passenger section. It'd drive her crazy.

He sat on a seat near the window and she sat opposite to him, arms folded, eyes down, as the plane took off. Once they were in the air she relaxed a little more, staring out at the passing lands beneath. They approached the ocean soon enough and after that water was all there was.

She dozed off a few times during the flight, waking to get food and water from Kraven when he offered it and dozing some more. When the high spires of New York appeared in the distance, Ava refrained from growling again.

Back in the city.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translations (from Google translate - don't trust my Russian):
> 
> "стой, отступать" = "Halt, back away."
> 
>  
> 
> "Мой тигр" = "My tiger,"
> 
> "My tiger," he says, and Ava steps behind him, just into his line of sight.
> 
>  
> 
> "Убийство. Медленный" = "Kill. Slowly."
> 
> "That one," her Master says, "Kill. Slowly."
> 
>  
> 
> "стой," = Halt
> 
> But her Master stops her with a quick word, "Halt."
> 
>  
> 
> "Убить их всех" = Kill them all,
> 
> "Kill them all," he ordered, "Kraven leaves no loose ends."
> 
>  
> 
> "Слушать" = Listen
> 
> "Listen," he said, and Ava turned to him
> 
>  
> 
> "Прости меня, Учитель" = Forgive me, Master
> 
> "Forgive me, Master," she whispered.
> 
>  
> 
> "прощенный" = Forgiven
> 
> "Forgiven" he responded and Ava relaxed.
> 
> Other than that there's not much I need to address. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it!
> 
> See ya Chilladas!
> 
> -OfficialUSMWriter out!


	3. |Guard Dog

Luke Cage POV

Nobody ever seemed to notice that he was there.

Which was something he always found to be  _weird_ , especially after over-hearing so many comments and remarks on his build and stature. The ability to overpower nearly anyone in a room was bound to give him a bit of attention, but he was honestly surprised that so many people lacked the survival instinct to look over their shoulders where a beast might be lurking.

Despite being stronger than nearly every agent within the Zodiac, and just as tall, Luke always worried that he'd attract too much attention for the job he'd been given. However, he also figured his sudden invisibility had something to do with strategic placement.

Scorpio kept him situated tightly in a corner near the door so that when it opened the door would swing out and block him from sight. His corner was indented into the wall too, and at just the right angle that the shadows did most of the work covering him. Besides, whoever came through the door was usually too far across the room to notice him by the time the door closed again and were too pre-occupied with their task to check and make sure their back was safe.

While the insolence never failed to grate on his nerves, it only made his job easier.

Still, just  _once_ he wanted someone to notice him right off the bat so they could just _get on with it._ It was so dull waiting through the formalities of assassination attempts and incompetent agents. If they could at least spot him right away, it gave him a reasonable opening to act.

 _But,_ Scorpio liked having his ulterior motives. The prospect of having a hidden gun up his sleeves, most fondly used when the victim thought they'd won, excited him. Luke just so happened to be one of the biggest and most dangerous of those guns, and while he didn't mind keeping their Zodiac leader safe, he just wished they could skip the talking and mind-games and get straight to punching.

Unfortunately, the song never changed its tune.

When a lone Taurus soldier walked in at exactly 8:45, he'd slipped the door open just enough to wiggle through, and marched across the room with his gun already out and pointed at Scorpio. Like so many others before him, he didn't seem to notice Luke.

Pity.

As soon as the door closed again, Luke stood straighter, even though he'd been standing at attention in the same spot since early that morning, and mentally mapped out every vulnerable spot on the man's body; from the legs he could snap like pencils, to an estimate of how much strength it'd require to crush the mans' neck. It wouldn't take very much either, mind you

Only when the soldier stopped at the desk, form squared and body braced for action, did Scorpio look up. It was barely even a look at all, but a fleeting glance from the reports he'd been reviewing, following by an impertinent scowl as if the Taurus was nothing but an insolent fly stupid enough to buzz around his head.

Scorpio had divulged Luke on his suspicions that SHIELD managed to infiltrate the Zodiac Ranks weeks ago, and with a bit of digging and contact with the loyal spies he'd planted  _months_ before, figured out that the mole was somewhere within the Taurus faction. The mole was the reason Scorpio had him stay late and waking early for weeks.

Luke was going to enjoy choking this guy with his own arms.

With the Taurus's back to him, vulnerable and completely breakable, Luke headed forward. The carpets were padded to absorb sound, which might've been a problem for Scorpio if any assassins tried to take him out. That is, if not for Luke, whose job was to get to them  _before_ they could take a swing at that boss. Given that any assassin or agent actually managed to surprise Scorpio, which was so few and far between that Luke would go as far to say that Scorpio had seen it in the stars.

From his cool, sturdy desk Scorpio gave a small sigh, a sign of his displeasure with the interruption, but clasped his fingers in resignation anyway, like it was nothing but an unpleasant business meeting he'd have to suffer through.

Impressed, Luke mused on the fact that Scorpio had been right with his suspicions that the mole would be taking his move soon. Sleep-deprivation and achy muscles told Luke that the boss was just being paranoid, but his head and past experience told him to stay alert. Scorpio was never wrong.

The gun remained centered on Scorpio's chest as the guy took his Bullhead mask off, discarding it on the floor like it was a piece of filth. Luke couldn't see the agents' face from where he was, but he could imagine the smirk all too well, like a child finally winning a prize after countless attempts. He refrained from snorting.

"Where's your Guard Dog, now?" the agent leered, obviously reveling in his moment. Luke pondered on what was going through SHIELD's head when they sent THIS agent, an obvious newbie who didn't have the intelligence to pull the trigger quickly. But let him have his moment. The poor, stupid man was about to get the wake-up call of his life.

Luke was behind him by the time he got the last word out, and grabbed his neck with a vice grip, earning himself a startled gasp.

"Right behind you," he answered; voice muffled within his own mask, and threw the guy across the room, right into the wall. They were metal, so they would hold up. Besides, he didn't throw him hard enough to break bones or dent metal. This guy was the reason Luke wasn't asleep right now, he wanted to enjoy this.

Luke trod across the soft carpet, where adjacent to him the agent shot back to his feet and centered the gun over Luke's head this time. He didn't hesitate to blow off a few shots, which meant he was learning. But each bullet hit Luke's head with pleasant  _ping CRUNCH_ as the metal crumpled like aluminum foil. Crippled projectiles dropped at his feet like dying birds.

Aww, there was that look of fear Luke's grown to enjoy. Peoples always had a particular expression of terror when they realized he couldn't be harmed. Even more so when they realized that  _they_  were about to be.

Ha, he probably hadn't heard about  _that_ in the barracks.

Luke was acutely aware that Scorpio was watching him, more skeptical than usual. This wasn't like one of Luke's other missions where he could just crush these guys like shoes on cockroaches. Scorpio was expecting something more than just his normal brutal tendencies.

Fine. Luke could get creative.

He grabbed the agent by the neck and hefted him off his feet. "Blood on the carpet?" he asked the boss. The last time he got blood on the carpet without permission he had to scrub it off himself.

"No. A clean kill."

"Yes Sir,"

The agents' eyes bulged behind Luke's hands, and he couldn't tell whether it was through fear or lack of air. It didn't matter, the guy never got another say. Well, aside from his screams – but those were mostly incoherent, so it didn't count.

When he was done nearly 30 minutes later, the agent was snapped and twisted in  _many_ different places. Not enough to break the skin, but clean, simple breaks. The ones that punctured lungs and organs, just a hair shy of breaking the skin. The mole had been in so much pain he'd zonked out halfway through it. That felt like cheating in Luke's book.

He bent down to snap the moles' neck and put an end to it, but Scorpio stopped him with a halting grunt.

"Take him to our Prison Hold. We'll send him back to the scum he came from. Leave them a little message."

Luke nodded, affirmative, and grabbed the guy by his collar and dragged him none-too-gently out of the office. There was no reason he needed to be there anymore. Scorpio could've easily taken this doofus out himself, but there was always a lesson to learn. Luke figured that out a while ago.

He was already a popular rumor around the Zodiac, so why not use it to lure out a pseudo-agent?

Even Luke's' heard the numerous rumors about "Scorpio's Guard Dog" that have been circulating throughout the organization ever since he joined the Zodiac years ago. Since he always stuck by Scorpio's side, following his orders  _only_ , not many people had the misfortune of getting to know him. Some believed that he was an actual Zodiac from the stars. Others believed that he wasn't even human, but a humanoid creature created by Scorpio to do his bidding. It was said that he couldn't be killed. That he could topple a city with a single punch.

It was kind of funny, to be honest. Luke  _could_ die, he knew that, and he definitely couldn't topple a city with a punch. Scorpio would've cashed in on that otherwise. All he had for him was invulnerable skin, strength, and a whole lot of impulse control.

But he didn't mind the rumors. They were entertaining. It got people to leave him alone, anyway. No one wanted to mess with Scorpios invulnerable Guard Dog from the stars who could crush buildings with his bare hands.

The halls of the Zodiac base were simple, constructed to be firm and undefeatable. It didn't help that they were set up inside a docile volcano, either. But the lava burrowed into the earth made for a good sustainable fuel, defense, and heating system.

Without the carpet floors, Luke's steps hit the ground as if he had thunderclouds tied to his shoes. The booming echoes of his feet gave him a deep feeling of satisfaction he could never quite explain. Perhaps it was the fact that he could be heard corridors away, and that every agent within the vicinity will know that the Guard Dog was let off its chain. Maybe it was because he enjoyed the nervous fumble of agents when he walked past. Whatever it was, it pleased Luke down to his core.

The Prison Hold was built farther into the volcano, where the heat could be felt emanating off the walls. The cells were constructed with heat-able metal, so most inmates were slick with sweat and sporting numerous burns on their hands and feet.

He marched to the Guard Block, where the Chief on duty saluted, straight-backed, and opened the thick Prison Hold door with a click of a remote in her hand. Luke took the agent down to a cell personally, watching in grim amusement as another guard, boring the red dot of a trainee on her sleeve, pushed the cell code in with sweaty, nervous fingers. After another fumble, Luke scowled, considering breaking her fingers too. No weak links belonged in the Zodiac, especially in the Prison Hold.

Weakness bred weakness, and they couldn't be vulnerable where their enemies were concerned. A prison break would be far from ideal, and a few broken fingers would be more than enough to remind this trainee that her inefficiency would NOT be tolerated.

Maybe he'd mention it to Scorpio later. For now, he tossed the broken human into the cell, not bothering to lay him on the covered cot to prevent burns, and listened to the trainees breathe of relief as he walked away.

Pathetic.

It was uncomfortably hot in the Prison Hold and it filled the spaces of his mask with sweat and hot air. He was grateful when the door opened again and he strode into the coolers halls.

There are more Zodiacs roaming around. A few Rats, Snakes, and Pigs. They all moved out of his way when he came stomping down the hall, staring wide-eyed and apprehensively at the snarling dog mask perched on his face. He stared pointedly at a few until they looked down respectfully.

The Guard Dog was pleased that they simpered before him. The strong cowered before the weak, after all. It was the way nature made it out to be. The gazelle ran from the roar of the lion, the lion did not run from the bleat of a gazelle.

But another part of him, the Puppy Side as Scorpio haughtily called it, felt somewhat…guilty. He wasn't a blood-lusting beast to be feared, not all the time at least. While their submissive behavior and nervous fumbling amused him, he couldn't help but feel as though he was doing something wrong. The voices of his deceased parents seemed to come back to him, soft yet firm, preaching the lessons of humility.

He got those conflicting thoughts a lot. Scorpio did his best to beat and train them out of him, but its only reward was a hard shell. The Guard Dog was built on the outside, but Luke Cage was still inside. Maybe it was through the aching affection he still had for his parents, but he liked keeping their personas' different. Liked having a distinction between the Dog he was within the Zodiac, and the boy his parents raised.

Not that he ever, ever,  _ever_ told Scorpio that. Their leader would never tolerate such - such a soft, sentimental view of his character. It'd be dozens of consequential training sessions until even his invulnerable flesh felt down-right soft and squishy.

Scorpio liked his Guard Dog as brutal and bloodthirsty as the Zodiac made him out to be. Rumors could spread beyond their organization. If that agent did manage to make it to SHIELD before dying of internal bleeding, then there was no doubt Luke's reputation would exceed itself to their Director.

Which is exactly what Luke wanted.

Scorpio is still looking over the reports when Luke returns, calm as if his life hadn't just been threatened. Technically, Luke supposed that it never was. When the door open though, the boss spared him a glance.

"Good, Dog," he said, looking back down. Luke smiled wanly, even though it couldn't be seen.

"Yes Sir," he said, standing before Scorpio with his arms crossed. "Am I still needed?"

Scorpio thought about it. "No," he decided. "You are excused to go to your bunker."

Finally. The last few sleepless weeks were beginning to get to him. While he could go days without sleep just fine, that didn't mean he  _liked_ it. He bowed to Scorpio, created a Z with his arms and proudly proclaimed, "Zodiac," and turned to leave.

His hand was barely brushing the doorknob when Scorpio called, "Dog," and Luke turned back around.

"You and I will be heading out in a few hours. Be back here at 1'. I will not tolerate tardiness."

Like Luke has ever been late before. Still, this seemed peculiar. Where could Scorpio possible be wanting to go at that time of night?

"Yes Sir," he said anyway, and clutched the doorknob, but hesitated. Timidly, he turned back around, "Uh, Sir, requesting permission to know why we're leaving?"

Scorpio thinks about that too. "You will be performing in a new training exercise." He said, and judging by the clipped tony, that was all the explanation he was going to get.

Luke pondered on that. It's true he's been exceeding the standards Scorpio set for him in his duties of protecting him, maybe the boss just wanted to challenge him. But it also took time out of sleeping, and that was irritating.

Luke stifled that irritation.

He was the Guard Dog for a reason. He needed to be prepared for anything, so that's exactly what he was going to do. Insomnia or no insomnia.

The walk back to his bunker wasn't very far. Scorpio kept him close,  _just in case_. It's a small room, bigger than a bathroom, but smaller than an office. The bed, a flimsy mattress on a wire-y frame, is pushed far in the corner with a rumpled blanket. His clothes were in the chest underneath the bed. His weapons hung from the wall, but there weren't many. He didn't  _need_ weapons when he WAS one. A toilet sat in a corner, the sink next to it with a small mirror hanging loosely from the wall.

Maybe it wasn't so much a  _bunker_ than it was a cell. But Luke didn't like that comparison so much. It reminded him of the cells the Prison Hold and he was  _not_ a prisoner. This was HIS home. His room was small because Scorpio needed him to disassociate. He couldn't get attached. So, not trinkets, no pictures, no memorabilia of any kind. Just him, his bed, and his reflection.

But he couldn't complain. Scorpio provided him with everything he needed to sustain himself. He was fed, clothed, and clean. He had a roof over his head, fighting etched into the girth of his limbs, and a goal to motivate him. That was all he needed.

As soon as he closed the door behind him he tore the snarling dog mask off his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he tossed it on the bed. Ugh, that thing was stuffy. He didn't think his zodiac was  _actually_ a dog, but ever since catching wind of the rumor, Scorpio insisted he wears it – to play into the image.

It was hot and stuffy, though. Irritating to wear. Luke figured he'd get used to it eventually, but  _ugh_  – he wished he could go back to wearing just  _his face_.

Orders are orders.

He rubbed water over his face to wash away the sweat and stench, leaning far over the sink to let the water run on the back of his head till he was thoroughly cooled. He had no towels, so it was either let the water air dry or use the blanket. He didn't particularly care either way.

But man did it feel good to wash Guard Dog away. He resurfaced from under the faucet, supporting himself on the sides of the sink as he watched the water fall down the drain.

What was this training exercise Scorpio was going to have him do, anyway? Why did they need to leave the base to do it? It seemed like a hassle. He's succeeded in all his training – what more did Scorpio want him to learn? He wasn't going to allow anyone to hurt the boss. No one will get past him.

But – but he must've slipped up  _somehow_. Otherwise, he wouldn't have to do this. He ran through the last few weeks, trying to find flaws in his performance. Maybe Scorpio picked up on his sleep-deprivation? Maybe Luke was being too soft?

Sighing, he turned the water off. He looked up, staring at himself in the mirror. His buzz-cut hair was getting longer – he'd need to get it cut again soon. The front of his blue and gold-brown uniform was wet from the water, particularly where the giant Scorpio sign was stitched to the front, but he couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything contact wise.

The receptors on his skin were too far buried under a hardened layer of tissue. Even hot water was hard to feel, which was why he always had it to use the highest setting. His showers were brief because of that. Couldn't use too much hot water, even though they were in a  _literal_ volcano, so most of his showers went cold.

But the patch of wet clothing was irritating to look at. He took the shirt off, tossed it on the end of the bed to dry, and took out a new one from the chest. While he was at he also replaced his pants, his boots, and swapped the gun strap on his bicep for a knife strap on his thigh. Didn't usually need weapons, but would be nice to have anyway.

He didn't like guns that much. The metal crumpled too easily in his hand. A knife hilt was slimmer and melded easier into his palm, and there was the less likely chance he would break it. Besides, he could do just as much damage with a knife than he could a gun. Bullets didn't work on him so he didn't need to worry about gun-fights.

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

He'd better start going.

Scorpio was waiting for him out in hangar, top-side of the base, overseeing last minute preparations. Luke took his place next to him, looping the bag offered by a Pisces over his shoulder. He waited until everything was ready, keeping an eye on Scorpio's back, before filing into the jet.

Luke took the wheel, on Scorpios orders, and watched as the boss punched in destination coordinates.

Why the hell were they going to New York?

 

**Here is a picture of Luke's outfit. My art style is probably going to change frequently because I'm trying different methods and tools out. Also, sorry if the mask looks a little weird, it's a work in progress.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd done, there's Luke! Hey boy!
> 
> Anywho, I don't have any announcements. I guess just make sure to read the update for "Reticent Monsters" if you follow that book. I think that's about it.
> 
> *the screen fades to black*
> 
> -OfficialUSMWriter out!


	4. |Disciple

** Danny Rand (POV) **

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Behind him, Danny could feel Mordo's eyes on his back. Minutes ago, before he'd closed his eyes, Baron had been sitting cross-legged across his own woven mat, eyes sharp as Danny prepared the room for their spell. He can imagine his Master in the same position now, arms relaxed by his side as his fingers rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully, garbed in his dark robes that spilled across the floor around at his sides.

The stress and importance of this spell was like a lead weight on Danny's chest, and he  _knew_ he would be tested on his performance. Aside from Baron Mordo aiding him in figuring out his ailment, he always went out of his way to make sure Danny did everything to perfection. Even the smallest mistake made while using the Mystic Arts could be disastrous, particularly when using his Personal Energy. If he didn't focus, he could very likely kill himself.

The sharp perfume of the incense was more than enough to keep him awake, but it did little to appease the anxiety weathering his nerves. The next magical shift of the Miscellaneous Nexuses would begin any minute now, and he needed to be both mentally and physically prepared for the raw energy about to breach their dimension.

Legs crossed under him, hands positioned on his knees - poised in a forthcoming gesture - Danny called upon his Personal Energy. The magical energy flowing through every being, like chi, only this one is malleable. Something raw and unfocused that could be molded into a new shape or form if done correctly. He could sense it running through his body. Lighter around the surface, like thin, glowing strings gliding through his veins, but the deeper he searched the more abundant it became. The energy thickened the farther he went until he reached down into his very core, where the soul was tethered with the body, and tapped lightly into the whirling pool keeping that connection intertwined.

Instantly, energy began flowing up through his body, rushing out like water from an unblocked dam, and he switched his focus to harnessing it. Channeling it through him, taking it in his hands and molding it in a shape that would best suit him.

Outside the sphere of energy twisting around him, he could feel the peak of the Nexus approaching. The magical aura of their sanctum began to level out, dropping lower and lower into a subdued state, like the calm of the ocean just before a storm hit. Danny focused his energy, feeling it grow tight in his chest, twisting together in a painful pinch. He held it there, waiting.

Every second it was restrained, he could feel it sapping at his strength, burning it up like an eager flame to a piece of soaked candlewick. Despite the tame heat of the hearth on his back, his brow was chilled with cold sweat. Around him, he felt the aura reach its resonating thrum.

He began to chant, "By the everlasting power of the Sphere of Cyttorak, I call upon the incantation of magical detection, by the power of Dormammu!"

The Nexus shift broke, and a high wave of raw energy swept over Danny, nearly snapping him from his focus. He held strong, feeling the swell of energy absorb into his own contained ball of energy, and unleashed the spell. A wave of warm air enveloped his body and a flash of gold light overtook him. He could hear his own heart beating, the run of blood in his own veins, feel every blood cell in his body in one unfailing swoop. But more than that, he detected his prize. A bit of gold energy balled up far into his core, small and withered, but beating steadily. Danny reached for it, stretching himself past the barriers he knew to respect, and barely grazed the golden surface before the power of the spell began to wane. He was pulled back by an invisible hook tethered to his ribs and plopped back into the normal world again.

The energy expelled into their dimension disappeared, settling into its normal rhythm, as Danny's own Personal Energy receded back to its shores. As soon as the spell was gone completely, exhaustion hit him like an Eldritch Beam and he slumped forward, barely catching himself on his shaken arms.

Sweat clung stickily to his body, and it suddenly felt too hot for a fire to be burning in the hearth. Breathing in rasps, he felt as though he was sucking up ash rather than air. When his panting began to subside, Danny pushed himself back up, brushing the strands of his blonde hair from his face. He turned wearily, looking back at Baron Mordo who was still perched on his mat.

Baron gestured in a small, inquisitive way, "Well, Disciple?"

Despite the overwhelming urge to curl into a ball and sleep for the next few moons, Danny grinned and nodded. "I saw it. I  _felt_ it. It's still there, we still have time."

Baron Mordo smiled back, a small pleased upturn of his lips. "Good, then we will continue with our previous experiments over the next week. We'll check back again with the next Nexuses shift."

Danny nodded again, feeling pleased too. He had been so worried that his abilities would be gone this time. They've been debilitating rapidly the last few weeks, faster than they had before. It was worrisome, but it was a relief that they weren't gone for good.

It was a close call.

He slowly got to his knees, then his feet. The room swayed dizzily when he stood and he stumbled, catching himself on the small table before he could collapse. When he tried to move again, this time Baron Mordo's arms looped around his torso and Danny swung his arm over his Masters' shoulder. He was walked to into the next room and laid down on the small bed.

"Now get some rest, Daniel," Baron instructed. "You'll need all your strength. We're heading out to New York tomorrow."

Danny had already been settling into the thin blankets, but his Master's words brought him back up. He looked back at Mordo, frowning as he sat up. "Master, why are we going to New York?"

"It's nothing terribly big," Mordo assured, "A training exercise. For now, just sleep."

Still frowning, Danny lay back down. Through the corner of his eye, his attention flitted to the chest near the wall, containing the cloak and clothes he wore when he went out with Baron. Looking at it put a bitter seed in his stomach.

Why did they need to go to New York for a training exercise? He always did his exercises at the havens Baron Mordo had set up all throughout the world, more recently in the Sanctum his Master set up in T'Si-Nen, in China, which was where they were at now. Besides, New York was close to the  _other_ sorcerer. The one Baron Mordo detested. It couldn't be "nothing big" if it was bringing his Master back to  _that_  place.

Baron must've noticed his uneasy look, and mistaken it for Danny's personal problem. "Don't worry Daniel, we'll find and restore the power of Shao'Lao within you."

Saying it out loud sent an ache in Danny's chest. Not wanting to voice his concerns, Danny smiled and nodded back. Yet his smile dropped as soon as Baron Mordo left the room. Turning over in the bed, he tried not to let it trouble him. Both this news AND his waning power.

If he were being honest, he'd prefer if they didn't go to that exercise at all. Whatever it was, if it didn't involve finding his Iron Fist power, it was a waste of time. His powers were declining at a faster rate now, and he didn't have the time nor the patience to take part in a silly little exercise when he could be figuring out what was wrong with him.

But, he owed Baron Mordo. The magician had taken him off the streets after his banishment, given him a place to stay, and began teaching him the Mystic Arts to better defend himself. When his powers started leaving, Baron Mordo had been there to help him replenish them. They've been searching endlessly for ways and reasons to bring it back. Danny was in-debt to Baron Mordo, and if he were being honest, the magician's company was appreciated. It had been a rough few years since…since the incident. He appreciated having someone around.

Sighing, Danny brought his hand to his face. He called upon his Iron Fist energy, feeling it resound throughout his hand. His skin began to glow gold as the power uncased his hand in its aura. But it was dim and weak, and he was barely able to hold it a few seconds before he worried that he was using too much. The power of Shao'Lao had no  _real_ limits, but it still scared him to think that using it only made it diminish faster.

He tucked his hands back under the blanket, keeping them close to his chest as if to keep the energy held tight to his heart. He closed his eyes, trying to find sleep. Baron would most likely have him cast the teleportation spell tomorrow, he was going to need all the sleep he could get.

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Danny's chapter isn't as big as the others because, well, it didn't really need to be. They're pretty straight to the point.
> 
> I had to do so much research on Marvel's magic XD It's some pretty interesting stuff, I'll give you that.
> 
> Disciple, in this, is a level of student in the Mystic Arts. There are different stages a student goes through before becoming a Master, and Disciple is one of the higher ones.
> 
> But anyway, look at Danny! :D He looks like such a ninja warrior in his outfit. XD An adorable ninja warrior. I didn't have time to draw the other two position I had in the other three pictures. Sorry :C


	5. Novae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd back! :D This is Sam's chapter! *does a dance*
> 
> Also, in case ya'll forgot who Titus was, here's a pic of him.
> 
> He's not a very nice kitty. -_-
> 
> Enjoy! 3

 

Novae POV

Now he  _knew_ he wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping, but it was too late to stop now.

Besides, it's not like he was trying to  _intentionally_  eavesdrop, because that would be bad and disrespectful towards their Captain. It happened... _accidentally._ Sam had only been doing his job, after all. Dusting off the controls, keeping the floors swept and mopped, and, generally, just making sure the Captains control center was clean and orderly. No one could get mad at him for doing what he was told.

He just happened to come in at a bad time.

The message to his Captain was short anyway. All he hears is a simple transmission from a static-y voice coming in through the speaker near the transmission receiver surrounding the Captain at his helm.

" _It's time_."

Two words. That's all it said. Kind of ominous in a way that catches Sam's attention, but nothing that seemed particularly pressing or vital. Until he sees his Captain snarl irritably, fist clenching in a way that suggested he was with-holding from smashing the device in, and Sam deduced that, perhaps, it wasn't as innocent a message as he thought.

His Master's growl startled Sam in his little corner and he dropped the cleaning supplies that was bundled in his arms. They fell all over the floor in a loud, rancorous heap, that had his Captain's head whipping up with another snarl.

Sam cursed under his breath and rushed to his knees to pick them all back up with shaky hands, hoping - praying - that maybe the Captain hadn't  _really_ heard it. But its doubtful, and when he looks back up, hugging the supplies to his chest and stomach, the Captain is glaring at him.

"S – sorry Captain Titus," Sam apologized, heaving the supplies in his arms shakily. "I – I was just coming by to, you know, I was just um – cleaning." He finished weakly, head bowed.

Captain Titus growled again, low and under the breath, and Sam shriveled in on himself. That bright, feline eye was sharp and cutting, but the red, cyborg eye in the other socket was just as bright and belittling. For a moment, Sam was nervous that he had wandered into trouble again. But then Captain Titus waved his hand dismissively and turned back to the control board.

Still shaking, Sam shuffled the rest of the way in and settled in a corner of the room, and began scrubbing away carefully at the floor, panels, and controls, taking extra care not to knock anything. The last time he'd accidentally pushed the alarm it had not ended well for him. Wincing, he resisted the urge to rub the scar on his shoulder, knowing full and well that the Captain wouldn't tolerate weakness of any kind. At all.

Thankfully, his work was fast and uneventful. Most of the head crew working the helms mainframe and guidance systems ignored him as he swept and scrubbed around their feet, aside from an occasional kick that told him he overstayed his welcome in that area. Once he finished up the main area, polishing everything so it was slick and clean, he moved timidly to the chair Captain Titus sat in now.

Nervously, trying not to catch the Captain attention or distract him again, he crouched at the chairs side and began scrubbing away the dirt and grim gathered at the bottom. Ew, there was a splatter of blood still there from the Phalanx captain Titus killed after they apprehended its ship. He scrubbed that away with fervance.

From the chair, the Captain's voice washed over Sam like a wave of nausea, "Novae," and Sam froze, scrambling over the last few minutes to make sure he hadn't done anything wrong. When nothing particular stood out, he swallowed his nerves and answered.

"Uh, ye – yes Captain?"

"Head on down to the brig and partake in another training regiment."

Sam almost dropped the cloth he was using to scrub the grime near Captain Titus' boot. He gaped at the Captain. "You – you mean, I can-"

"Did I stutter?" Titus growled roughly and Sam stumbled back, nodding that  _yes he'll go train_ , then shaking his head cause  _no, you did not stutter, Captain Titus, Sir_.

"And polish the helmet as soon as you're done. I don't need your human filth to linger. You're training limit starts now."

Sam jumped to his feet and had sprinted halfway across the room before he stuttered to a halt and rushed back, scrounging up the cleaning supplies in his arms, before bolting again. "Thank – thank you, Sir," he added as he went.

Outside, he wasted none of his precious training time in dumpinb the supplies back where it belonged and raced through the halls toward the Captain's private quarters. He was let in automatically and took a straight line to the hidden section in the wall.

Never, no matter how many times he saw the panel open, would he ever get used to the way the helmet gleamed at him in welcome. The lights that kissed along the helm, catching the curves of the helmet  _just so_. His fingers curled around the helmets' sides and pulled it into his arms in a protective embrace.

It was the last Nova helmet. The one he had inherited after the Nova Corp was wiped out. In fact, he and Titus were the only remaining Nova Corp members left. This helmet was as precious to Sam as the head on his shoulders.

With his time limited and ticking away, he kept the helmet tucked tightly under his arms as he raced out of the room and back into the halls, dodging past the workers of the ship, guards, and helmsman. They saw him coming, noticed his precious cargo, and stepped out of the way, albeit begrudgingly.

Sam smiled. Good.

They would've never stepped out of the way for him otherwise.

Being the only human in the crew, a great majority of the ship's inhabitants found pleasure in poking fun at him. Not the playful kind, either. Sometimes they intentionally stepped in his way just for the pleasure of seeing him getting knocked down, run over, or - in most cases,  _him_  scrambling to get out of  _their_ way before they collided. Sometimes, when they were frustrated and he was nearby, they'd kick or hit him, other times they shoved him in small spaces just to watch him have to squirm his way back out. They made him do ridiculous tasks for them, and stole his clothes so he had to cover himself with anything he could find as he searched the ship up and down for his belongings.

But with this precious, powerful device in his arms, they didn't dare make him trip. Captain Titus would have their heads if so much as a scratch appeared on the helmet by their doing.

Sam made it down to the training room with neither a hitch nor complication. The room he used was a tad smaller than the other ones, but it had all of the same technology. It was built entirely of metal, with small fissures in the walls and floating orbs that projected hard-light opponents for him to fight. Despite its size, this training room was one of the toughest they had. Sam needed to be tough if he was going to wield the helmet for good one day.

He'll practice as long and hard as Titus tells him too, he'll never complain, he'll always do the work, no matter what it was or how hard it seemed. One day the helmet could be his, so long as he listened and did his training.

Sliding the helmet on felt like sliding an arm in his socket. It was a piece that belonged to his body just as much as his legs and arms did. The power that coursed through his limbs streaked like beams of light through him, bright and sizzling, that burnt away the hesitance and paranoia that kept him looking over his shoulder. It encompassed him, engulfed him in its beautiful light, and he's never felt so close to home.

The rest of the suit grew out around him, growing down his body like a second skin. He exhaled serenely when he became Novae, the  _real_ Novae. Basking in the feel of the power of the helmet. It felt so good, so  _right._ Like he was meant to wield it.

But his muses snapped when the room began to buzz, whirr, and spark to life in a mixture of the systems booting up and the holographic mainframes syncing to their training exercise mandates. He shook himself to get rid of the fantasies. Captain Titus used to be a Nova Corp member too. The helmet belonged to him just as much – if not more – than Sam. He was a senior, had more experience,  _understood_ it more.

Sam was just lucky he found himself a mentor willing to train him in the ways of the Nova Corp.

The training began. Sam whizzed, trailing blue light in his wake, through the air, twisting, diving, and arching, shooting blast after blast that annihilated his programmed enemies.

Feeling the power in his hands, in his body, was like working with an old friend. He would never tire of the ardor that filled his heart with every channel of energy he shot through his hands. It was euphoric.

It was so euphoric, actually, that he almost couldn't believe it when the room began shutting down and the last attacker fizzled before his eyes. They must've passed a black hole or something, cause  _something_  must've sucked the time away.

He touched back down on the ground, not even feeling tired. Just one more round? Another lap around the room? Something.

But his time was up and it was time to go. Sighing, more forlorn this time, he trudged across the floor, kicking his feet lightly. Just before exiting, he slid the helmet off his head, and instantly, the power ceased, draining out of him through his hands and the soles of his feet. Dread and exhaustion replaced it.

He already missed it.

Opening the door, he trudged down the hall instead of running this time, and once again he was left alone. Despite his grievances, he noticed the cruel, bitter looks in his crewmates eyes. They couldn't wait till his protection was gone and he was free to their maltreatment of him.

Back in the Captains Quarters, he sat below the opened panel with a piece of cloth and polished the helmet. Cleaning it thoroughly through every nook and cranny, driving the dust from its surface till it was gleaming with splendor. Even then, he took extra time to go over it again, prolonging his time with his heritage as much as he possibly could.

But, just the same as the training exercise, he was finished all too soon. Disappointed, he got back to his feet and held the helmet up to the panel, where the sectioned wall was open and preparing to swallow the helmet whole.

He paused, hands hovering the helmet over its stand. He stared at his reflection in the golden sheen, fingers frozen where they were still curled around its sides.

He...could put it back on, if he wanted to. He could.

He  _should_.

Why not? What was holding him back anyway?

An energy of sorts seemed to pull on his hand, tugging the helmet back toward him.

 _Put it back on_ , it urged. _Do it. It's your birthright. This helmet belongs to you_.

His fingers rubbed against the ancient metal, and pulled it forward, up, over his head, lowered and –

"Novae!"

Sam almost dropped the helmet. He scrambled to regain his balance, hugging the helmet to his chest, and turned, waning instantly. In his haste to put the helmet back, he hit the wall, slammed the helmet on its stand - where it now leaned crooked and nearly backward - and quickly closed the panel again.

"Cap – Captain Titus," he stuttered, clasping his fingers in front of him. "I - I just finished training. I was just polishing it. The helmet, I mean. That – that's all, I promise."

That feline eye narrowed at him and the red one was so judgy. Sam held his breath, waiting for the questions. The anger that could follow. His eyes dropped against his will, landing on those clawed hands that had broken his skin before. Lashes on his back. Scars on his arms.

Grimacing, he hunkered down, wishing he could disappear through the soles of his feet.

When nothing happened outright, Sam dared a peek back at his superior and was surprised to find nothing but mild annoyance in his feral features. After a tense moment, Titus turned, ordering "Follow me," as he walked out of the room.

Perhaps Sam's hope of getting off the hook was too premature. He followed Titus out, nearly stepping on his heels as they went.

For the third time, he was left alone. Only this time, Sam would have preferred to be tripped or kicked over a likely beating from Titus. The other members of their crew averted Titus's eyes as they walked past, trying to look low, but not low enough to show an ambiance of weakness.

Sam was led back up to the helm, where Captain Titus ushered the Co-Captain out, away from his chair in the front. There was no one else close to them, what with the ship technical crew a feasible distance behind them. For whatever reason, Captain Titus wanted a bit of privacy.

As soon as they were alone, the Captain took his chair, facing the wide open window where an expanse of stars lay at his feet. Sam waited behind him, barely in his sights, twisting his fingers aggressively and doing his best to ignore the piling punishments he, no doubt, was about to receive.

Would he be sent to the prison rig to clean up the spills and blood of torture prisoners? Was he going to clean every floor of the ship up and down? Get purposefully kicked and punched by the crew? Lose all the authorization he had to the helmet?

That last one sounded the very worst.

An apology was bubbling past Sam's throat when Captain Titus finally answered. "We're heading to Earth," he said, almost bored, without even looking at Sam. He said it with such disgust Sam could taste it on his own tongue.

Earth? Why in the galaxy were they going to Earth? That mud-ball of a planet was hardly worth the Captain's time. Not when they had so many better places to go.

"Uh…wh – why?" Sam asked, softly, quietly, in case the Captain didn't want to answer

"You are to take part in a training diagnostic there."

Which that - that surprised Sam even  _more._ What kind of training could Sam possibly do on Earth that he couldn't do here? Why  _Earth_ of all places? And why wasn't he being punished for almost going against his Captains orders? Not that he wanted to be punished for nearly putting the helmet back on. It was all just so strange.

Sam turned stiffly, still confused. "I'll...go notify the crew then?"

"No," Captain Titus said. "It'll only be me and you on this trip. Go prepare for departure."

Now THAT just took the top of the surprising mound Sam found himself stuck in. It was daunting and, to be honest, nerve-racking. The Captain was taking him, Sam, to Earth personally. Just him. For  _training?_

Nerves ate away at his stomach. He didn't like the sound of that. Earth was a gross little thing, infected with weird creatures, more often than not with weirder powers. He may have been born there, but that didn't mean he wanted to go back. Honestly, he'd rather scrub the ship up and down.

But he didn't dare voice any of that either. The punishment he would get if he defied his Captain's orders a  _second_ time would only end up as another scar to his collection.

"Yes- yes, Sir," he stammered, trying not to let his concern nor confusion bleed through. "I'll…I'll go get ready then." The Captain grunted back, which Sam took as his leave.

Back out in the hall, without the ironic protection of the Captain or the helmet, the crew began picking up on their regularly scheduled torments. So wrapped up in his own thoughts though, Sam hardly even noticed the jeers, hits or bumps, and numbly picked himself back up when he was pushed or tripped.

In his own bunkroom, a tiny alcove that could barely fit him, he sat on the edge of his bed with his hands clasped in his lap. For whatever reason Titus wanted to take him there, Sam had a very bad feeling about it. Whatever this training was, he didn't want to do it on Earth.

What, on Earth, could he possibly gain there anyway?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Sam's Nova/Novae outfit is the same as in the show because, well, his outfit comes from the helmet and it doesn't necessarily change based on his circumstances or mindset. So it's the same.
> 
> So here's a picture of Sam ( because I'm slacking).
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed the chappie! :D We'll see you for the next one!
> 
> -Mystery_Name out!


	6. |Cheliceri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Assessment Requirements. Your mission is to eliminate a specific target. I repeat, only this target." He handed over a picture. "If anything other than this target is taken out, you fail."
> 
> It was a big guy. Tall, muscled, dark skin, wearing a snarling dog mask. It'd be an easy kill.

Peter POV

Today was already feeling like shit.

Peter woke up that morning feeling out of his skin. The nightmares came and went of their own interest, and he was still waiting patiently for the day they would stop altogether. But if the nightmare last night was any indicator, then his hopes for a refreshing sleep was about as likely as Taskmaster putting on a pink tutu and dancing the Swan Lake.

His uncomfortable, dissociative state of mind stayed with him throughout the rest of the morning. In the communal area, everything seemed just a  _tad_ too loud and people were getting just a  _little_ to close for him to be comfortable. Generally, most of the other students left him alone, as he liked. But with a day like today, anyone within a foot of him was infringing on his unestablished boundaries

Too neurotic to bother lashing out at people - just the thought made him nauseous - Peter took to the walls and ceiling for transportation. No one bat an eye, and if they did, they were careful to keep it to themselves. They were all used to it by now anyway. Peter preferred getting around via web-swinging or ceiling walking. The only ones who ever gawked anymore were the newbies, and even they'd been informed to keep their distance, so it was good. It was all good. The ceiling was  _good_.

Peter took his tray of food, found a nice corner at the end of the wide, communal area, and picked at his breakfast. Today, it was oatmeal, sausage, and eggs. A good healthy breakfast for any intellectual assassin. He was going to need it if this new training assessment was going to be any good. Yet, his appetite was missing. Probably hiding somewhere in his bed.

He managed a few bites of oatmeal and half the sausage without throwing up, then tossed the rest in the garbage. It was getting too loud anyway. He tried to eat as early as he could so he didn't have to suffer through the other students' small-talk. One of the disadvantages to having super hearing was that you ended up listening to  _everything_. And today, Peter's ears were painfully sensitive, and he didn't want to hear about the weird fungus growing between your toes, or the infected ulcer on your butt.

More student were filling the room, which was his cue to skedaddle on out of there. He scuttled across the ceiling, passing over a table with a few Senior students hunched over their trays.

"-you see that ship that arrived this morning? Big-ass thing with these weird symbols painted on it. Let me tell you dude, that thing is not from around here."

"Do you think it's mutant?"

"Nah, man. It's definitely alien."

Huh, perhaps not all conversation was nugatory. Apparently, their lovely school was hosting a guest. On the exact same day, Peter was expected to have an assessment too. Seemed a bit too coincidental for his taste.

He got to his feet and strode across the ceiling, out of the communal, and into the hall. On a normal day, Peter would've gone to one of the (private) classes, Weapon Maintenance and Exotic Methods of Killing preferably, but Taskmaster didn't allow classes on an assessment day. You could study up on your own time, but this was to see how much knowledge and training you retained throughout the schooling period, not how much you could cram into your brain before you were judged.

While Peter could appreciate a break every once in a while, he was itching to do something. Anything to keep his brain and body useful. He'd found that the best way to deal with a bad brain day like this was to just keep busy until it went away. Sure, sometimes he felt ready to explode because his mind wouldn't  _shut up_ and his body was off the fritz and ululating over every little thing, and that he couldn't think straight and that even following the simplest thoughts felt like herding a bunch of cats into a swimming pool, but it kept him busy. As long as he kept busy, the day would eventually end, and right now that was all he wanted.

Maybe he could clean his weapons before the assessment. That usually calmed him down. Taking apart his guns was a smooth, mechanic process, and sharpening his blades was always particularly satisfying. The kind of satisfying feeling that sat right on your chest, purring like a content cat.

But Peter  _never_ got to do what he wanted. He heard the footsteps before he saw who they belonged too, and the fact that they were slowing down as they drew closer to him made his nerves grind.

"Cheliceri," the Agent called, "Cheliceri. I was sent to deliver a message to you."

Peter sighed and looked down at him, gesturing quickly for him to deliver his message and go.

He straightened up, throwing his shoulders back almost comically, and cleared his throat. He wore his newbie ambiance like a giant fur-coat, strutting around thinking himself so important when he didn't realize he'd been scammed into buying a rug. Peter stifled the urge to roll his eyes. He hated dealing with them. Always tripping up, always getting in the way, always too quick to please, thinking even the smallest task made them viable. They were a major headache and was one of the reasons why he didn't want to instruct students, as Taskmaster implored he did.

The newbie sounded robotic, as if reading from a hidden script, word for word, "You are to report to the Changing Rooms L1 - C and prepare for your training assessment, which will be beginning soon. You must bring the weapons and tools you'd like to use because none will be provided. You are to wait for the signal before you enter the training room, and—"

"Yes, yes," Peter interrupted brashly. "Message received."

He stopped at a loss as Peter walked away. His instructor probably hadn't told him what to do if his message recipient blew him off like that, but Peter could care less. He'd been to more than enough assessments to know the drill. Yet,  _every time_ , Taskmaster sent one anyway. Peter was probably going to pay for not listening to the complete message, but he also couldn't find the right electric-chemical signals to bother.

He just wanted to get it over and done with.

Peter stopped in one of the changing rooms connected to the Assessments Room where the tests were given. It was a wide room, much like any high school gym with lockers and benches, only instead of gym shorts and basketballs, stealth suits and weapons filled the empty space. Everything was in pristine order, nothing left on the ground, and everything where it belonged.

A clean copy of his suit was waiting for him. Peter stripped out of the one he had one and quickly jumped into the other. This one would track and record his bodily state and warn the administrators if he got too seriously injured to continue.

They couldn't have done this any other day? He had just gotten back from a successful mission and he just wanted to get back to his normal schedule. He jammed his knives into their straps and shoved guns into their holsters. Slid on his boots, wrenched his gloves on, and pulled the mask over his face, feeling the dark pit of irritation in his chest widen.

Thing was, normally, he wouldn't have minded an assessment. As long as he was honing his skills and keeping his mind sharp, then what did he care? But this didn't feel like a normal exercise, and the fact that there was a big-ass ship outside didn't help either. An unhappy, cynical inkling sat on his ribs, glaring at the facts. There was something more going on here, and he didn't like it.

What could Taskmaster hope to learn with this assessment? What was Peter getting graded on? Had he done something wrong during his last mission? He didn't know – didn't know if he  _wanted_ to know – and that alone made his unease  _worse_.

The door opened just as he slid his steel bo-staff into its sheath on his back, and he tensed, going for his gun. But it was only Taskmaster.

Still tense, heart trepidated, he eased out of his squared stance.

"Taskmaster, Sir," he greeted, spine straightening and shoulders falling back.

"Assessment Requirements," Taskmaster said, standing before him, tall and imposing. "Your mission is to eliminate a specific target. I repeat,  _only_ this target." He handed over a picture. "If anything other than this target is taken out, you fail."

It was a big guy. Tall, muscled, dark skin, wearing a snarling dog mask. It'd be an easy kill. Perhaps he should just use his gun and get it over with. Guns were loud, crazy, irritating, but they made for a quick kill. Why he was killing this guy was beyond him though. The sooner this pointless exercise was over, the better.

Peter waited for Taskmaster to go one, but he stepped back toward the door.

Wait…that's it? Just a picture. No file? No report?

Strange. It's been a while since Taskmasters given him a ghost to kill. No name, no attributes, no skills – just a target on his back. Usually, he was given a bit more information.

But that didn't matter because he wasn't a trainee anymore. He stopped getting attached to his target a long time ago.

"Assessment begins in 5 minutes," Taskmaster said. "Be ready."

Peter nodded again, but before leaving, Taskmaster moved behind Peter and grabbed the bo-staff from its sheath. "If I send you a message, you listen to it thoroughly." He warned, and left with Peter's favorite weapon in hand.

Peter crushed the picture he still held, shuddering sickeningly at the bare feeling on his back. Without the weight of his bo-staff, he felt too vulnerable. Off-kilter. One more of his defenses taken down. One less lock to keep him secure. He should've just listened to the message. Why was he such an idiot?

Breathing deeply, long deep breathes to distract himself from the imbalance, he unwrinkled the picture, smoothed it out on his palm, and committed his target to memory. Once he could list every detail of his target from top to bottom, he snorted and tossed it to the side.

Easy kill.

He paced the remainder of the 5 minutes in front of the door, and as soon as the bulb above flashed green, the Changing Room lights turned off and he slipped out of the door into the dark immensity of the Assessment Room.

Priorities first. He scaled up the wall, hunkering himself into a deeply shadowed corner to get a sense of how wide the place was. It was a large room, cluttered with columns and immense walls grown right out of the floor. Good for hiding in shadows and getting the drop on people.

He squinted, climbing higher and crawling across the ceiling. He could hear footsteps. Dull, prominent thuds not far off. Crawling closer, he dropped off the ceiling and landed soundlessly on top of a crate-like structure, peering down vigilantly. He almost scoffed.

There was his target just  _strolling_  through the room. Not even bothering to hide his blundering steps.

Easy.

Using the shadows to his advantage, Peter flipped to the other side of the crate, taking out a knife in his boot. He stalked his prey a few more yards until he was aligned directly above him. Right before pouncing though, through the corner of his eyes, something zipped through the shadows and he paused, senses tingling lightly. He peered around cautiously.

Hmmm, okay. Perhaps  _too easy._

He was under the distinct impression that he and his target were not alone.

Speaking of which, his target was moving again. Paranoia probed at his brain as he traced his prey step for step, till he was right above him again. His spider-sense tingled again and he clutched the handle of his knife. It would be best to just get this over with as quickly as possible.

He dropped.

His target never saw him coming. Peter landed on his shoulder, balancing himself easily and tore the crude dog-mask right off his face and thrust the knife into his targets head using the momentum.

Or, at least he tried. Upon impact, the knife shattered against his preys head. Peter brought the busted blade up to his face, inspecting the jagged remains incredulously.

Oh… _shit._

A colossal hand latched onto his arm and threw him. Peter hit the crate with enough force to shatter it on impact. He exited out of the other side, rolling over splinters and nails, using the momentum to roll up onto his knees and grab a gun from his holster. Okay, a slight hiccup in his plan. Who the hell was this guy?

A mutant? Inhuman? Your run-of-the-mill superhuman?

Peter jumped, shooting a web that swung him back over to his prey, and shot three clear shots at his target. One to the head, one to the throat, and one to the heart. But the guy didn't even stop. He spared Peter an irritated glance, but turned away, peering behind the nearest structure, looking for something.

Or  _someone._

Peter was beginning to see where this Assessment was headed.

So, his target was invulnerable. That checked out his projectile weapons. Knifes were gonna be useless too. Nothing could get through him…

Hmmm, his target was hard on the outside. But what about the inside? Peter reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out a small capsule, inside a thick, pigment-less liquid resided. Poison, specially concocted himself. If he couldn't injure his target physically, maybe it was time to take a different route.

But just as he extended his hand to shoot a web, something zipped through the shadows again. His brain tingled full-rev. and he twisted, but it was too late. He was tackled anyway.

He and his attacker hit the floor hard enough that it knocked the breath out of him. There was a growl in his ear and he sees a white bodysuit and claws.  _Sharp_  claws. Grunting, he grabbed the wrist before it could sink said claws into his throat and threw his attacker to the side. They hit the wall but was back on their feet within seconds.

Peter got to his own feet, coming up into a crouch with a knife in one hand and the capsule in the other. His attacker was hunched over, slightly, on all fours as she inched to the side. Her body suit was white with fur around the neckline, black strips decorated the shirt, whereas black cargo pants and boots finished off the look. She hissed at him as they circled each other.

He didn't have  _time_ for this. His mission was to take out the snarling-dog guy, not the crazy-cat lady. Peter took a step back, edging toward the crate to get the higher ground advantage. His actions were instantly translated and she lunged forward with a hair-raising shriek. Peter barely had time to dodge the swipe of claws to his chest and quickly flipped back, landing on the closest wall.

Damn, she's faster than he thought.

He needed a distraction. Maybe he could use the laser on the scope to one of his guns. Would that work? How much of a cat was she?

Fortunatelt, he didn't have to test it out.

A bright light erupted next to her and the blast was enough to throw her back. Someone new stepped in. He stalked toward the cat-lady, palms out, with lights and mystics symbols glowing around him. Peter dully noted the dragon symbol on his chest before moving. A distraction was a distraction, and he wasn't about to look a gift-dragon in the mouth.

Behind him the dragon-dude yelled something about the energy of the whats-a-ma-call-it and another blast of energy explodes outward. Peter needed to find his target and end this.

Unfortunately, his Assessment had other plans. A bright, shining blue light encased the room and Peter hissed, momentarily blind. He stopped on the wall, crouching low and shielded his eyes. A pristine sensation of vulnerability swept him for being out in the open like that and he shot the side, letting his senses guide him up to higher ground. The light dulled down and he blinked away the blue and yellow dots dancing in his eyes.

And a new player entered the game-board. This one was encased in blue energy, donning a gold and black costume that looked otherworldly. He had a giant helmet on his head too.  _Weirdo._

The newcomer attacked the dragon-dude, which, in turn, gave the cat-lady the opening she needed. She bolted away from him, hissing, and quickly spotted Peter on his perch.

_Frick._

He didn't have TIME FOR THIS. Shooting a web, he propelled himself forward onto the ceiling and quickly scuttled across it, all too aware of the clinking of claws hot on his heels below.

"Where'd you go," he muttered, searching through the chaos beneath him.

 _There._  He watched as his target lunged forward, tackling the helmet guy mid-air and brought him down to Earth. The dragon-dude looks like he was contemplating attacking both of them, before turning around and searching for the cat-lady.

 _Clever exercise,_  Peter thought grimly, watching them tussle.  _Irritating, but clever._

He rolled the capsule around in his palm, thinking of the best way to distribute it. Direct approach? Just shove it down his throat and see if he's as invulnerable on the inside as he is on the outside.

It would probably be a lot easier if he didn't have the crazy feline at his back.

Heaving, he jumped off the ceiling, springing from structure to structure, and flipped down. He landed directly on the snarling dog-dude's shoulders once more and used his body weight to lean them both to the side. The dog-dude was lurched off his feet and Peter twisted so he was straddling the dude's chest when they hit the ground. One-handed, he held his head down, vaguely aware of the angry eyes and snarling face – a scarily close resemblance to his mask – and held the capsule in his fingers.

"Shut up," Peter griped as his target struggled, working to get a clear shot to his mouth. Before he could try though, he was tackled again and this time claws dig into his arm. His skin feels as though it's been eaten up by acid and he almost dropped the vial.

Cat-lady growled as she shifted her other hand to tear out his jugular. But she's stopped again, this time as glowing orange chains wrapping around her torso, pinning her arms to her side, which yank her back. Dragon-dude is looking irritated now. He's chanting again, but whatever he's trying to say is interrupted by a blast from the helmet-guy, who, in retrospect, was body-slammed by Peter's freed target.

THIS was the Assessment. Kill their target and ONLY their target. They were all just going in circles. All of them ordered to kill one, and none of them were going to stop until their target was eliminated.

_Clever, clever plan._

Peter scrambled to his feet. Well, just so long as he killed his _first_  he didn't care. If he could just get cat-lady off his back. Hmm, if he could free the dragon-dude, that'd take care of his feline problem. However, dragon-dude was still struggling against helmet-head, who was also trying to evade Peter's target, which was leaving Peter open to cat-lady's attacks. Wow, what a head twister.

"Use your environment," he muttered to himself.

Jumping forward, he shot a web at helmet-heads hand and yanked so he was no longer shooting at dragon-dude. Once freed, the dragon dude centered on cat-lady. Peter' target was distracted by strangling helmet-guy.

Perfect.

He sprinted forward, shot a web at the back of his target's legs and pulled them out from under him. Startled, his targets grip faltered and he slipped. Helmet-guy tried to break free and succeeded for a second. Just before he could zip away though, Peter's target gripped his ankle and helmet-dude fell with him.

Peter quickly webbed his target's limbs down, uncaring that it trapped helmet-guys ankle too. He was on his target in an instant, capsule in hand. Unable to move, Helmet-head made better of the situation and shot across the room. He must've hit his target because Peter hears a thud and suddenly cat-lady is behind him. Her claws dig into his forearms this time, but he forced himself to ignore that as he clamped the capsule in his targets mouth. One hand covers his mouth so he can't spit it out and the other curls around his jaw. One jerk upward and his target would bite down.

Claws are around his neck, digging into his skin. There's another shot from behind and suddenly….

Everything is  _very_  still.

Heavy breathing fills the space but no one moves. Peter glanced around, cautious of claws at his throat. His target had gone still, focusing intently on keeping his jaw open, but had also managed to rip one hand free and had helmet-guy by the neck. Helmet-guy had one hand up, pointed directly at Dragon-dude's face, who had the cat-lady's head in a breakneck position. It was enough to stall the cat-lady from digging her claws into Peter's jugular and ripping his throat out.

One bad move and they'd all be dead within a blink of an eye. They were locked in a stalemate.

For a long moment, they stood frozen. Then lights flashed on and a small clapping filled the room. Their eyes swiveled to the side where a group walked in. Peter noticed Taskmaster among them. There were more people too. A guy with a weird beard and a cape of sorts, another with hunting furs, another with a scorpion on his chest (Peter recognized him as Scorpio, leader of the Zodiac. He's done jobs for them), and…a tiger-cyborg?

"The exercise is over." Taskmaster said. "Mission complete."

Peter stared for a second, before slowly letting go of his target. Instantly, the dog-guy spat out the capsule, but his grip on helmet-heads throat tightened. Before he could crush his throat in though, Scorpio barked out, "Dog, down," and he let go instantly.

Similar orders followed. Helmet-head dropped his glowing hand, the dragon-dude released the cat-lady, and cat-lady jerked away from Peter.

Confused, they stalked toward the group.

Cat-lady stopped next to the man with the hunting furs, Dragon-dude to the caped-guy, his untarget to Scorpio, and helmet-head to the tiger-cyborg.

Peter stopped next to Taskmaster, performing the respective fist to the chest. "Sir," he greeted, but couldn't find the words to say much more. While he figured that was where the exercise had been heading, he was still unsure about what its purpose served. None of them even won – it had ended in deadlock. But Taskmaster didn't look angry that Peter had failed. His stance was easy, pleased. Whatever Peter had done, Taskmaster approved.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem as though any of the other Assessmentees were going to voice their confusion either. They stood tense and worried, just as confounded as Peter, but held their tongue.

"It went better than expected," hunting-furs grumbled admittedly to Taskmaster, voice thick with a Russian accent.

"Indeed," Scorpio agreed, "Although, it would have been nice if at least  _one_ of them had gotten the upper hand." He leveled a stare at the dog-dude, who looked down shamefully.

"Aye," hunting furs agreed, and to Peter's astonishment, cat-lady simpered too.

Peter glanced left and right, but all the others stood silently in front of their superiors and didn't breathe a word. He looked down, thinking to do the same, but it didn't sit right. He could take orders, he's been trained to, but what was the point of all of this? He couldn't figure it out.

His fingers drummed against his thigh, and quickly, he stepped forward before he could talk himself out of it. "Sir," he addressed Taskmaster. "Not to speak out of term, but what was the point of this exercise."

He felt the stares of the others on his body, and he clenched his fist. Taskmaster regarded him coolly, quiet for a moment, and shifted his stance. Still open, shoulders relaxed, hands clasped in front of him - Taskmaster was satisfied with his question. What was going on?

His mentor turned to the other men around him, and they all shrugged. Scorpion gestured indifferently. "Cheliceri," the way Taskmaster said his name made his hair stand on end, "This is your new team."

Peter froze.

Dog-man froze.

Cat-lady froze.

Dragon-dude froze.

Helmet-head froze.

" _WHAT?"_  They all screeched together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOO! An update! An update! I had this one edited and sitting in my folders, so I thought 'Why not?' and uploaded. Cheliceri finally met the others :3 Whoop-de-doo! :D :D :D
> 
> Once again, for those who don't know, I won't be updating anything else for the remainder of this month or maybe some of next month because I have a competitive event coming up and I need to study and prepare for it.
> 
> But here's this! :D :D I'll still be here to reply to comments and messages, I just won't have the time to upload anything.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> -OfficialUSMWriter


	7. |Zver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tossing Disciple away, she rushed them. Using Cheliceri's back as a springboard, she propelled herself over the barrier and land on the other side, grinning at their startled floundering through the translucent energy shell.
> 
> It was almost enough to make her laugh.

Ava POV

This was annoying.

She wasn't  _supposed_  to be annoyed but she couldn't help it. Even though it's been two weeks since her Master told that she was part of a pack, Ava couldn't get over how terribly irritating the whole situation was. Besides, she's been cooped up in the  _stupid_ base for 14 whole days and it was driving her crazy. If her cold room didn't drive her mad, then her stupid pack-mates were.

Frankly, the only thing keeping her pack-mates alive was the deal her Master offered her.

Her master, Kraven the Hunter, had explained it briskly; she was to learn how to fight and survive with a pack, and if she succeeded he would let her go on hunting missions for him, by  _herself._

By. Herself.

She almost couldn't believe it when he told her. He's never offered something like to her before, and while a part of her was wary that it was some kind of test, she couldn't help but feel excited. This was definitely a step-up with them - this meant he trusted her!

So, as much as Ava hated these people, the reward was far too exceptional to pass up. For now, she'd bite her tongue and keep her claws to herself.  _For now._

But that didn't mean she had to like it.

They've been training together every day since their first mission against each other, whether it was through an elaborately pieced-together obstacle course, a strict mission to take out a specific target, or simply sparring with each other to better understand the other's fighting style. So far, it's been messy, crazy, and ineffective.

None of them worked well together. That's just how it was. Their packs dynamic was too out of place, too hastily done. The big, muscly one in their team – Guard Dog she's come to know him as – was big, blundering, and  _always_  in the way. He barreled through everything, uncaring for the rest of the Pack, as he grabbed whatever their target happened to be and tore it apart with his bare hands. He had no hunting strategy, no tact, and every bit a dog his name implied. No, he was less than that. He had the ferocity of a beast, but none of the skill.

Novae, the odd one with the helmet, was no better. He blasted everything without thought. While he's  _admittedly_  agile in the air, he's also bright and overbearing. He zipped in front of them without needing to and destroyed everything with a target on its back. More than once he almost shot one of his pack-mates, and even then he didn't stop. He was quiet, but often laughed at them to himself, muttering insults about their "small, little human intelligence" and fly off, shooting haughty glances over his shoulder. But that was when he even bothered powering up. In some circumstances, he didn't even have his helmet with him, and stood off to the side watching them fight while pointing the littlest mistakes and criticized them for their "crude Earthling tactics."

The one that got on her nerves the  _least_  was probable Disciple – the only name he answered to by his master, the red-caped sorcerer she heard Kraven call Baron Mordo - but even  _then_ she still felt bitter over their first training exercise. It was Disciples constant interference that prevented her from completing her kill. With his relationship with magic spells and distractions, she didn't bother getting close for fear of lashing out and invoking the wrath of her Master. Besides, Disciple always looked irritated, no matter what the time of day, like he always had better things to do. Always so impatient. The last one in the room and the first one out. During training his magical incantations were fast and to the point – sometimes TOO to the point. There had been more than one occasion where he'd simply blasted their target when they were  _supposed_ to sneak up and infiltrate. He never apologized for his crude actions either. Just turned and walked back to his starting position, let  _them_ infiltrate, then blasted the target when they were given the go-ahead.

But, perhaps the one who got on her nerves the  _most_ was their alpha leader, Cheliceri – her prey whom she'd failed to kill, something that still made her simper with shame every time her Master looked at her. Now he was  _particularly_  frustrating. He was the most silent of them all. When they weren't on the floor training, he was up on the walls or ceiling, arms crossed and watching. The most she's ever heard him talk was after their first exercise when he asked what the training had been for in the first place. It irritated her that  _this_ was their alpha leader. He never got close enough to remotely "act" as a leader, never said a word, and was in and out as quick as possible. He didn't work with them, finished the mission on his own whenever he had the chance, and acted as though he expected them to read his mind. During one occasion, he'd tossed Novae into the fray of the battle, out of  _nowhere_ , almost injuring him, Disciple, AND Ava, as he went over them from above and killed their holographic target. When they'd angrily confronted him about it, he shrugged, muttered "Distraction," as if that explained everything, and crawled up his wall and sat, waiting for the next diagnostic.

Ava was patient. She waited for her Master to speak up, tell the others how this wasn't working, and split up the pack. To take her back to the jungles and marshes where she could hunt like the beast of prey her master  _treated_ her as. But he never did.

Perhaps he just needed a bit of enlightening.

She'd show him she was better than all the others. That she was more capable and trained. That she could  _do this_ without any of them. So, she ignored all of them. Didn't follow the diagnostic instructions because there were no  _rules_ in the wild, something that her Master could understand. It was survival of the fittest, and Ava was the fittest out of ALL of them. She'd show them she didn't need a pack.

From then on it had become a race. A free for all to whoever could get to the target  _first_. It was unspoken between them, but the obvious driving force for them all. Even for Cheliceri, who never said a word.

Which was where Ava found herself now. Their mission was to infiltrate the elaborately set up building/maze and find their target, which was hidden behind a protective barrier. Guns were hidden in the walls and popped out without warning, shooting anything that moved. Training bots waited behind corners and attacked when they're backs were turned. A few of Taskmaster's mercenaries were hidden within the shadows as well and jumped out at random. Ava was  _distinctly_ ordered not to kill them, which only put her in a WORSE mood.

One jumped at her from their perch above, and her claws instantly shot out as she centered on every fatal nerve and juncture that could kill them in an instant. The jugular was her favorite. The fear in her preys eyes when her claws dug in, the pain, the blood. No one would ever mess with her. But she couldn't. Her Masters' words were like a loud, brash kick in her brain and she turned away last minute.

Growling irritably, she only cut them up a  _little_ and flung them into a wall before moving on. She turned a corner, coming into a larger room. Cheliceri was already there, swiftly taking out training bots as if he'd done it dozens of times before. A stray bot spotted her and zipped forward, arms turning into a gun that shot rapid-fire. She spun and dodged the projectiles, ran across the floor, drop down and slide, wrapping her claws around its thin legs and RIPPPPPED it from its body. The bot tittered and fell, but she tore apart its head for good measure.

Opposite of her, Cheliceri finished up with the last of his bots and smoothly straightened, clipped his bo-staff into the hold on his back, and stared at her. They caught each other's eyes over the battlefield and she  _knew_ he was challenging her. Could feel it on her skin. He burst into a run and she was hot on his trail.

He jumped from wall to wall, ceiling, wall, to floor, but Ava kept track of his movements easily. She was NOT going to allow him to shake her.

The halls were getting narrower now, which meant they were nearing the end-stretch. Their target was closer than ever, behind a single protective barrier. Disciple was already there, arms open as an incantation boomed past his lips. Ava growled.

_No! There was no way she was going to let him blast away her hunt!_

Cheliceri must've had the same thoughts. He jumped up on the wall and shot a web toward the spot that just  _happened_ to be right where Disciple was standing. The web hit him hard in the face, muffling his mouth, and he stumbled. Cheliceri zipped past him without a word, Ava as well, just as Disciple pulled the web off and glared at them spitefully. No sooner had they made it to another room when a loud, pounding sound reverberating behind them as Guard Dog burst clean through the wall, shooting pieces of hard debris around the floor. He barreled through the training bots, tearing them apart limbs by limbs without a scratch or hitch in his stride. Like Disciple, he found himself at the other end of Cheliceri's web.

An " _accident,"_ Ava was sure.

That was two in a row – a pattern. Ava's had the displeasure of being webbed down far too many times for her liking. It seemed Cheliceri was falling into a rhythm, which meant she needed to watch her back or else she'd meet the same fate. As Guard Dog tore web after web away, and Cheliceri kept "misfiring," Ava snuck past them, heading toward the mouth of the next hall. She knew she didn't need to engage in battle, and while a wild side wanted nothing more than to join in the crazy fray, all she could think about was the approval of her Master when she brought down the target.

Those thoughts faded as a bright, blue streak flew fast overhead. Unfortunately, today Novae  _did_ have his helmet. Above them, he grinned wide and smugly, a starch opposite to his usual glaring approach. Out of everyone, he was the most blunt about their undiscussed battle.

"SUCK IT, EARTHLINGS, THE TARGET IS MINE!"

 _That_  flipped a switch. Ava, Disciple, Guard Dog, and Cheliceri all stopped, shared a sweeping glance, and took off into a run. There was no point in fighting each other when  _Novae_ might win. Cheliceri allowed Guard Dog to tear the webs off his eyes only to say, cool, clear and the loudest Ave's ever heard him, "Throw me."

Guard Dog didn't have much of a choice with Cheliceri running at him. To at least compensate, he slowed enough to allow Dog the time to cup his hands, before jumping, one foot connecting to Dog's immense palms, and was shot up into the air. Cheliceri flipped, twisting as he shot two webs that connected straight to Novae's shoulders, and pulled, landing on the boys back in a crouch, holding on to the star on Novae's helmet for balance.

"WHOA – WHOA – HEY!" Novae shouted, spinning crazily to get him off, but Cheliceri stuck tight. Below, she heard the alpha leader yell again.

"DISCIPLE. BLAST 'IM."

To Ava's astonishment, Disciple stopped and began chanting. Energy and symbols etched in the air, brightening with each symbol brandished into reality. With a loud shout, he let the spell loose, and a great explosion of light exploded next to Novae. The flying fool spiraled. Cheliceri did his best to steer, before seemingly giving up and jumped, and shot a web on the ceiling that took him safely took to the wall. Novae hit the floor with a disgruntled shout.

"That…was…low!" he sputtered, getting to his feet.

There was a moment of silence. Then, slowly, they all looked back toward their unblemished target. Within the blink of an eye their shaky, hazy truce dissipated and they were all enemies on the field again.

Cheliceri was running along the wall, Novae rose back into the air, Disciple was hastily performing a spell that would likely get him up there faster, and Guard Dog was running straight through the walls.

Ava growled. She needed a way up there. She watched as Guard Dog crashed through wall after her wall and her eyes lifted up to the top of them, an idea sparking. Running forward, she jumped up off a wall, propelled upward, latched onto the top of the ledge and hoisted herself up.

She ran along the narrows tops, watching the progress of the others as she jumped from top to top, climbing swiftly from one wall to another, trekking her way up toward her target. Spurring faster, she climbed with the speed of her wildcat ancestors, and suddenly she was there. Her last obstacle was the barrier.

A spark popped next to her and Disciple landed next to her. She wasted no time and struck about, catching him in the arm. Before she could land another hit, a shield sprouted from his palms, bright and pulsating red. He pushed her off, and the shield disintegrating as a fiery whip grew from his hand.

He spun quickly, building momentum, and SNAPPED the whip, just a hair shy of Ava's head. She landed with a crouch, growled loudly, and lunged. She went for his feet that time, which he wasn't expecting. Without enough time to build momentum for another hit, Ava hit his legs and he fell with a breathless "OOOMPH."

There was no time to celebrate her victory though. Cheliceri and Novae had arrived, both in a spurring battle. There was no WAY she was going to lose to someone like _Novae,_ or WORSE – Cheliceri.

Tossing Disciple away, she rushed them. Using Cheliceri's back as a springboard, she propelled herself over the barrier and land on the other side, grinning at their startled floundering through the translucent energy shell.

It was  _almost_ enough to make her laugh.

Whirling around, claws out, she rushed for the holographic target. Only to be yanked back by a white, sticky substance on her arm. Cheliceri pulled at the web, drawing her back.

No longer fighting, Novae shot a long blast at Ava that made her jump away from the target.

Disciple was back up now too and preparing another spell, looking at her, and Guard Dog had made it to the landing as well, charging the barrier. Great, another truce – this time against  _her._ This was the last thing she needed.

Using her free hand she cut the web away. If she wanted to win this she needed to move FAST. A shudder ran through the barrier as Guard Dog hit it. Cheliceri flipped down from it and landed between Ava and the target.

He lowered himself into a crouch and she understood a challenge when she saw one. Her claws shot out again, right where he could see them so he  _knew_ what was about to happen. He braced himself, and Ava's limbs buzzed like a swarm of hornets with the anticipation.

She tore forward, but he blocked the first strike toward his chest, then another for his leg, but wasn't fast enough as she whirled around and caught him in the shoulder. Flipping back to give himself room, he rolled his shoulder once, suit torn, and rushed at her again. It was a fast-paced fight. Hit after hit, dodge, punch, avoid, kick, hit, and punch.

It was frustrating how hard he was to hit. It was as if he saw what she was about to do before she could even do it. But he wasn't untouchable. More than once she managed to rake her claws over his skin, which slowed him down little by little.

Their battle was interrupted by a hit from Disciple, which knocked them both down, giving Novae the opportunity to shoot past them. He would've got the target if Guard Dog hadn't full-on tackled him mid-air.

Cheliceri heaved Ava off of him and sprinted forward. Ava was on her feet in seconds and passed him up easily. Disciple shot two long strings of chains from the Mystic arts of the something-something that caught onto Cheliceri's feet and made him trip. Ava jumped as another pair almost got her, twisted, and kept running. No sooner did she though, did a web catch her leg - one catching Disciples back as well - and they were both yanked backward.

The chains disappeared and Cheliceri was on his feet.

Ahead of them, Guard Dog was struggling against Novae, both of whom were a mere 5 feet from the target.

Tensions were high. She could taste the apprehension on her tongue. They were all here to prove something – they just happened to be in each other's way.

Guard Dog saw them coming and swung out with his foot, catching Disciple in the stomach. Cheliceri jumped over him but Ava grabbed his arm and forced him back. A fiery chain from Disciple wrapped around them both and pulled them back just as Guard Dog and Novae stumbled to their feet and knocked into him.

Like that, they all fell into a big, squirming heap  _right_ on top of the target. The hologram shuttered and shut off. It was silent for half a second.

Then, Novae shouted, "I got it first!"

Guard Dog pushed him off of him, "Yeah right,  _I_ got it first!"

Disciple pushed both of them off of him with a mighty hit with his glowing fist – something he didn't seem to use often. "You are both blind," he said, " _I_ got it first."

"You're all thick!" Ava snapped. "You're as graceful as a pair of stub-toed pups! I got the target first."

"AS IF!" The other three shouted.

Cheliceri didn't say anything at first. Calmly, he got to his feet, brushed off an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder, looked down at them as if they too were specks of dirt he couldn't scrub off and said simply, "I won," and walked away to take his respective perch on the wall.

His calm demeanor only irritated her more.

"Whatever!" Novae hissed, "It's easy to cheat when you have that magic silly string of yours."

"S'not cheating if it's a part of your arsenal," Cheliceri quietly tossed over his shoulder. "Not my fault if you're not quick on your feet."

That seemed to hit a nerve with Novae. "I'll show you quick on your feet!" He grit.

He zoomed forward, light engulfing him. Cheliceri would've been able to dodge if Novae hadn't feinted to the right, only to zip back into his beeline and tackle him where he stood. They hit the wall, denting the metal.

Cheliceri didn't take that too well.

His feet went up, back braced against the wall, and he kicked Novae square in the chest, sending him across the floor like a stone skipping over water. Lunging off the wall, it was his turn to tackle helmet-head. He got in a good few square hits before Novae blasted him with his blue energy, which careened him right into Guard Dog, who pinched his nose as if a bug had flown into his mouth.

"Watch it!" he snapped, throwing Cheliceri back at Novae.

Ava grinned sharply. It was  _very_ entertaining to see Cheliceri get tossed around like a rag-doll.

He didn't seem to think it was funny though.

He shot to webs that latched onto Guard Dog and heaved. The giant-of-a-boy was sling-shot across the room, right into Novae, whose blast of energy was knocked to the side where it hit Disciple, who had just been muttering, "This is a waste of time." before hitting the floor again.

Flustered and red-faced, he jumped back to his feet. He was still breathing hard from performing so many spells during their exercise, sweat drying on his forehead, but he seemed to forget all about that as he lifted his glowing fist and smashed it into the floor. Cracks sprouted, the ground upheaved, and  _everyone_ collapsed.

But when they were back on their feet, it was a free-for-all of punches and hits. No rules, no games – a simple, wild, fight. Ava didn't need to be hit to join the fray. The tiger side roared happily as she jumped into the middle of it all, throwing an excited punch at Cheliceri, before whirling around and kicking Disciple in the stomach. Guard Dog got in a good hit to her side, but she used the momentum to whirl around again, grab Novae, and ram his helmet head into Dog's stomach.

The fight went on for a few minutes and was only broken up when their mentors charged into the room. Ava felt her stomach drop with the ferocious look on Kraven's face and she dropped Disciples cloak, which she'd been trying to strangle Dog with, and scampered back. That was not a good sign.

The rest of them did the same. It was just a few moments of silence between them and their superiors, but it held an atmosphere of impending punishment.

The man with the skeletal mask – Taskmaster – was the first to speak. "Cheliceri," he said, and Ava saw their "alpha leader" flinch, just slightly, "my office.  _Now_."

Cheliceri nodded, muttered a quiet, "Yes Sir," and followed Taskmaster's white cape.

Baron Mordo regarded Disciple cool and stoically. "Foolish boy," he said, and Disciple's shoulders collapsed in on himself.

"Mordo – " he started, but was silenced by a quick wave of Mordo' hand. Disciple followed him out of the room sullenly.

Titus – the weird tiger alien – didn't even waste time with formalities. He growled a deep, throaty growl and ripped the helmet right off Novae's head, revealing the pale, frightened face of the black-haired boy underneath.

Titus was yelling at him, voice a combination of irritated yowls and growls mixed with an alien language Ava didn't understand. But it must not have been anything good as Novae got paler and paler with each word, till he looked downright ghoulish. Once Titus got most of it out of his system, he shoved Novae toward the door, who walked with his head down, looking sick.

Kraven stopped in front of Ava, but all she could see was his feet. She couldn't bring herself to look up, too afraid of what she might see. The tiger side whimpered, and she got the distinct urge to turn tail and run. But her punishment would be  _far_ greater if she did such a shameful thing.

It was quiet for a good solid minute before she was struck on the side of her head, and her head snapped crudely to the side.

" _Duratskiy_!" he spat at her, and she flinched. " _Plokhoy! Ochen' plokhoy!"_

"Mas – Master," she stammered, heart hammering. "I – I'm sorry…I lost control of myself. I –" another hit silenced her immediately.

"Silent." He said, darkly, and she did.

He took a deep, angry breath, then straightened himself. "Come." And turned, walking away.

Ava wanted nothing more but to fall and disappear into the floor. He was angry with her. Very,  _very_ angry with her. Why did she have to lose control of herself? She had to listen to him. He knew what was best for her.

She was just an idiot. Of course, she deserved every punishment he planned on inflicting. They all did. They acted so stupidly. It was a simple exercise, all she had to do was follow his simple instructions.

It was too late now. Walking past the crumbled maze and slashed training bots, Ava stuck close to Kraven's heels, sobered, with her tail tucked between her legs.

She hesitated, just near the door as Kraven walked out.

She could try running for it?

Kraven kept walking, farther and farther. He'll notice that she stopped. Any moment he'll turn around and see that she wasn't behind him. He'd be so angry – he'd…

Ava ran quickly after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the update I promised! :D Whoopie! Things aren't going so well, are they.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Duratskiy – Foolish; Plokhoy! Ochen' plokhoy! – Bad! Very bad!
> 
> "Foolish!" Kraven spat at her, and she flinched. "Bad! Very bad!"
> 
> Reminder, I'm going to be busy over the next few days and that I'll likely be gone most of next week on a competition trip. I'll still have my phone, so I can talk and stuff, but there probably won't be an update.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. | Mentors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And what about you?" he asked, drawing the Zodiac's attention. "What are you're thoughts?"
> 
> Scorpio looked between them all slow and leisurely, leaning back into his chair with his chin in his fingers. "I think we made progress today." He said, much to the disbelief of the other three.

Omniscient POV

Taskmaster walked quickly through the halls.

He had a cool, level-headed ambiance, but inside he was a boiling pot. He was still feeling extremely irritated by the less-than-satisfactory performance of the new team. Particularly, Cheliceri's performance. Had that boys' training taught him  _nothing?_ To act so foolish and irresponsible, engaging in a meaningless fight with people who he was  _supposed_ to be working with.

Well, Cheliceri was probably regretting it right about now. Using him as a new training dummy for the advanced classes was only a small punishment. He had something else planned afterward too. Something  _worse_.

Parker could fool himself into believing he was over the little "incident," but Taskmaster knew better. He could the fear in his very stance every time he walked by the locker room doors. He noticed it every single time Parker reacted to being touched.

It was a weakness. But it was a weakness Taskmaster could use.

But he'd have to wait until later.

Turning, he entered through a door that slid open as soon as he stopped in front of it. It was a large room used for debriefing agents before their missions. A large table was bolted in the center, where the rest of his colleagues were already taking up the seats waiting for him. They all wore equally frustrated expressions.

He took the chair at the head of the table. The silence was thick around the room, which was all the warning he needed to know that this meeting wasn't going to go well. He leaned forward on the table, looking over his comrades, "It seems the exercise did not go as planned," he said.

Like that, the silence broke.

"Of course it didn't!" Titus roared, instantly jumping to his feet. The cyborg arm/gun fused to his shoulder hummed as it charged up while lining up to Taskmaster's head. "This plan of yours was faulty from the start. We should've gone our separate ways and never seen each other again."

Taskmaster stared at him.

"Aye," Kraven agreed from his seat, where he was briskly sharpening a knife in hand. "What makes you think it would be a good idea to team them up? They would be…" he thought for a moment, "Formidable. But is it for the best?"

Baron Mordo stroked his beard, scowling heavily. "I am in agreement with the other two. I do not have time for this."

Taskmaster looked at all of them. His eyes landed on Scorpio, who was sitting quietly in the corner.

"And what about you?" he asked, drawing the Zodiac's attention. "What are you're thoughts?"

Scorpio looked between them all slow and leisurely, leaning back into his chair with his chin in his fingers. "I think we made progress today." He said, much to the disbelief of the other three.

"Hardly," Baron Mordo snapped. "You saw that mess. They were fighting each  _other_."

"You Earthlings are blind!" Titus snapped, turning his gun to direct it at Scorpio, who looked completely unimpressed.

But Taskmaster was grinning. "He's right," he said. "There was progress today. Quite a leap, I'd say."

Kraven scowled, putting down his knife. "How so?"

Taskmaster took a small disk from the folds of his cloak and slid it across the table so it was near the center. As soon as it stopped, a bright light filtered past its surface, projecting a wide screen that flickered a few times before stabilizing. On it, a rerun of the exercise was playing through.

"Watch," Taskmaster said.

They watched silently as Cheliceri "misfired" his shots and, Zver as she rammed into her team none to graciously, blasts from Disciple that knocked the team off their feet, Dog as he busted through walls, and Novae as he shot beams.

After a minute Titus growled, "What are we looking for? Further incompetence?"

Taskmaster simply gestured to the screen. Through it, Novae shouted, " _SUCK IT EARTHLINGS, THE TARGET'S MINE!"_

Titus scowled and shook his head, rubbing a hand over his temples as if embarrassed.

The video paused as it turned to Chelicer, Dog, Zver, and Disciple. "Look at that," Taskmaster said, gesturing toward the look shared between the four before it continues to show them running after Novae. "That look they gave each other. That was a truce," he clarified. "Each of them wanted to get the target but were unwilling to work together to achieve their goal. But, throw in a factor that they can all agree on, and" he motioned to Chelicer using Dog as a spring-board to take down Novae, " they become united in a common goal. That's where we've been going wrong."

Baron Mordo leaned forward, looking more interested now. "How do you mean?"

"This whole time we've been putting together 5 different people used to working alone. They've never worked with others beforehand. We can't just put them together, make them train, and expect it to click. They're all too focused on their primary goal to think of it as a group."

"So…." Titus harrumphed, "What are you saying, Taskmaster. Just spit out."

"It  _means_ ," he enunciated, "we have to give them a common enemy. Something that will get them to work together to achieve their goal, but only by relying on one another. This is the key to getting them to unite."

It was quiet in the room as they mulled that over.

Finally, Kraven grunted, "Very well," he muttered, "But are you sure the Spider will be up to the task?"

It was Taskmaster's turn to ask what he meant.

"This isn't like before," Kraven said, "Circumstances are different. Will the Spider be up to the task expected of him?"

The others stared at Taskmaster imploringly, who straightened in his seat. "Cheliceri will lead this group," He said, "it's already been decided."

"Aye," Scorpio said, "but will it turn out better? Or will it end up like  _last_ time?"

Taskmaster got to his feet. "He will lead this team," he repeated, firmly. "and we will lead  _them_. I'll make sure of it. For now, make sure  _you're_ members are up to the missions ahead. I will have no weak links on this team."

With that, he got up, looked them once more, and left.

He needed to see to Cheliceri's punishment now.

Weakness would not be tolerated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh, I wonder what they're talking about? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (¬‿¬)


	9. 2| Guard Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't. Touch. Me. Again." Cheliceri repeated, loud and brittle. "Touch me again and I will kill you."
> 
> Everyone in the room froze. The threat would've seemed a little dramatic if he didn't look like he actually meant it. Novae's anger ebbed a little, seeming to catch on Cheliceri's change, and the way he was favoring the firearm strapped to his leg. He still looked irritated, but he turned away quickly wiping the blood from his chin and lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll admit. This is one of my favorite chapters. Like, for realises. It was so much fun, I loved writing the dynamic, and it's seriously one of my favorites from this book.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy it just as much as I do! :D

 

* * *

Luke C. POV

Luke wasn't feeling ready for another training diagnostic. Not with how  _well_ the last one went.

It wasn't just because of the lacking team-work in their group, but because Scorpio was displeased with how it was going. His boss hadn't been very happy with his last performance.

" _Fighting like a child. Insufficient tactic! A big, blundering idiot ramming through walls. A disgrace to the Zodiac."_

It had gone on for a while, each word feeling like a bullet ripping past his invulnerable skin. He'd given Scorpio his word that he'd serve the Zodiac to the best of his abilities, and that he'd repay him for all he's done and helped Luke with. For what he was helping him achieve now. Having failed so spectacularly, Luke didn't feel quite ready to take on the training bots again, even if it were just himself, much less with his "team."

While he'd never say it out loud, he hated this idea of being in a team.  _This_ team, specifically. Zver was nothing but a crazy hunting beast belonging to Kraven that looked as ready to attack  _them_ as the training bots. Disciple didn't care whether or not they succeeded, and cast spell after spell without making sure his allies weren't in the crossfire. Novae and his constant derisive sneers and comments on their worthlessness and stupid "Earthling" strategies. Cheliceri and his inability to  _communicate_. For someone who was supposed to be leading them, he wasn't doing an ideal job of it.

Luke wanted nothing but to vent his problems to Scorpio. To explain how this team was useless and incapable. But something told him he wouldn't get very far in his argument. For some reason, Scorpio was set on the idea. All of their superiors were, in fact. It was strange.

But whatever their superiors did since the last exercise, it seemed to have worked magic - perhaps, literally, in Disciples case. The team was much more…subdued. Novae generally remained hovering in the air, as he normally did, but his remarks were few and far between.

Zver, too, was silent. Her lips were set straight, not in their usual snarl, and past the fabric covering the top half of her face, Luke could barely see a partially hidden bruise on her cheek. When she caught him staring, she hissed and stalked in the opposite direction.

Disciple was looking far less enthused than normal. But he didn't scoff and mutter about how it was a waste of time. Rather, he stood off to the side, in his own little corner, waiting for the training to start.

Out of them all, Cheliceri was the only one missing.

Until he jumped down from the ceiling, landing silently in a couch, and Luke glanced vaguely up, wondering how long he'd been up there. Those abilities of his never failed to unease him. He's seen a lot of weird things at Zodiac, but the way Cheliceri moved. Smooth movements, like water rolling over stone, when he wasn't fighting. Quiet and solemn behind those red lenses.

But, every time, as soon as he was in a battle it changed. His movements became jerky, quick, and fast-paced. His head snapped in every direction, tilting to the side as he regarded different situations and enemies. He scuttled and crawled across any surface, limbs moving so quickly sometimes it seemed like he had more than one pair of arms. It was unnerving, and it left Luke with a deep understanding as to why people generally feared spiders. They were usually small and harmless, but the way they moved seemed dangerous and otherworldly.

But that might just have been the effect of his yarn-ball of unease. Scorpio had him lose his dog mask. Said it was just getting in the way and restricting movement. Luke knew the mask was mostly for show, to distill fear in those who've heard of the Guard Dog, and despite having complained about it so much, he was surprised with how stripped away he felt in its absence.

Everyone else got to keep their gear, their masks, and he felt weird and out of place with a bare face. Vulnerable to eyes he couldn't even see. Not that he let it show. Whenever they passed him, glancing at little too long at his bare face, he crossed his arms and stared back in their lenses. Daring them to comment about it.

None of them did. Not even Novae.

Once they were all present, the room began to change. He and the "team" stood closer to the side, near the entrance, as more than half of the training room shifted. Blocks rose from the floor, columns fell from the ceiling, ledges protruded from the walls. Once it stopped it was like a tiny, elaborate city built just for them.

A full body image of Taskmaster - the master of this base - appeared in front of them.

"Mission objective," was the first thing he said, and Luke noticed how Cheliceri instantly straightened, shoulders back, and watched Taskmaster with rapt attention, "an artifact is hidden within the maze. Find it. Simultaneously, an opposing team of my mercenary students will be seeking the artifact as well. The exercise can be completed in two different ways. The first, when either team receives the artifact. The first team to obtain it wins. Second, your team automatically wins if you knock-out, or "kill", the leader of the opposing team. Vice versa for them."

Luke glanced at Cheliceri through the corner of his eye, whose fist tightened at his side. Looks like leader didn't want to be a martyr - shame. This whole thing might go by faster if they just offered him up as a sacrifice.

Than Luke thought about Scorpio and his scathing words, and decided better of it. Might as well just kill the other team's leader as quickly as possible and grab the artifact themselves. Besides, Cheliceri might've thrown a very subdued, silent hissy fit if they pinned him down and gave him up to the other team.

"Failure to complete this mission will result in  _severe_ punishment," Taskmaster continued, eyes seeming to bore particularly at Cheliceri, despite adding, "For  _all_ of you. Your performance will be judged by myself and your superiors. Don't disappoint us."

The hologram shut off and they were left alone.

They stepped toward the complex city-like scape but stopped a few feet ahead when they noticed that Cheliceri wasn't with them.

He was still standing behind them, frozen in place with his fists stuck tight to his sides. "Hey," Luke snapped, "you coming or what,  _leader_."

Cheliceri's head snapped up to him, before shaking himself out of whatever daze he'd climbed into and stalked forward. He didn't offer an explanation for his hesitation as he brushed roughly against Luke's shoulder and headed for the entrance.

Novae rolled his eyes, muttered something about "weakness" and zoomed ahead.

Inside, the city-scape was in a labyrinthine design. A very cluttered maze, with handholds in the walls, high ledges that were wide enough to run on, randomly shaped structures that obscured the shape of the corridors, and walls that varied from 20 feet to the height of a picket fence.

Luke strained his ears, searching for the sounds of an opposing team outside their own. It was much different than Scorpio's office. The floors here were a hard metal that seemed to clang with every step he took, often earning him the glares of his comrades whose steps were soft and held tightly.

"You wanna quiet down a bit," Zver hissed out of the corner of her mouth, crouching next to a corner to peer around to the other side. "I've hunted elephants quieter than you."

"Hey, some of us are built a lot thicker than others," Luke snapped but kept it quiet. He was already making so much noise, he didn't want to add talking to his list of weaknesses. Still, he tried to hold his feet.

 _Dainty,_ he told himself.  _Think dainty._

His dainty was nothing short of a marching band.

"Well, looks like we already lost the element of surprise," Novae said, leering accusingly at him, and Luke muttered something none too nice back at him, which only made Novae snicker.

Their bickering was put to a stop by Cheliceri who suddenly stopped, going rigid. Not a second later, he jumped to the side, just as a sharp ping pierced the silence and embedded itself in the metal wall Cheliceri had been standing on.

"The strike team," he announced, none too helpfully, and scuttled up the side of a wall to peer over. He ducked again just as quickly as another shot chipped the edge of the ledge.

"Oh, well, that's unfortunate," Novae yawned, sinking lower around the walls, likely so he wasn't accidentally shot. "Well, you better stay here while we find the artifact. Would hate for our  _dear_ , precious little leader to get hurt, right."

Cheliceri glared at him over his shoulder, looking less pleased than normal. "Stick together," he said, one of the first orders Luke's actually heard him give, "We shouldn't split up."

Novae shrugged, "Alright, I mean, I guess if you're scared that makes sense. You know, up in space, we wouldn't duck out of something if it was dangerous. We'd take it, like soldiers. But, sure, we'll stay together so you don't get hurt. Humans, so  _fragile_."

Despite being human herself, Zver chuckled crudely with Novae while Luke hid his smirk by turning to observe the corridor outside. Disciple merely scoffed, looking as invested as he normally did.

Cheliceri was unresponsive to that, but Luke could see the way his hands dug into the metal. Man, what did it take to get him to act up? He was like a statue. A small, boring little slab of concrete with just as much personality. What Luke wouldn't do just to see him blow up a little. At least I'd give him something interesting to leave with them.

"A sniper is positioned 30 degrees from my left," Cheliceri said instead, eyes boring into Novae's, "Why don't you go take it out then," adding to rub salt in the wound, "For your  _leader_."

The grin on Novae's face landed on the floor and his nose wrinkled disdainfully. He remained where he was for a moment, and Luke was sure he was going to refuse the order.

Then, too sweet to be natural, Novae said, "For our  _delicate_ leader, sure. Keep your head down now, I would hate for you to get scared."

He twisted up into the air and disappeared over the rising walls and columns. A short distance away there was a flash of light, a yell, and Novae was soaring back over to them with a white-suited agent dangling in the air where he held their ankle. In the other hand, he clutched pieces of a gun.

He dropped the sniper at Cheliceri's feet, followed by the broken gun. "Feel safe yet?"

But Cheliceri didn't look like he felt safe. He stumbled back as soon as the agent landed in front of him, going for the bo-staff on his back, hissing " _I didn't tell you to bring them back!"_

No sooner did he say it was the agent stirring. They twisted on the ground, swinging to their feet, and attacked Cheliceri with a wickedly twisted knife. It was blocked by the bo-staff. Chelicer pushed them off and advanced, swinging his weapon sharply.

The agent swerved away from the hit, and danced forward, swiping with expertly crafted swings. This one was a lot nimbler than the ones they've fought before.

Zver was bounding forward within the blink of an eye and swiped her own claws at the attacker, who doubled backward to avoid it. Before Zver would press her advantage, there was another shot and she yelped, backing away. She found cover behind a low block and bared her teeth in the direction of the shot.

Cheliceri pushed the agent off of him again, who'd jumped him as soon as they were free, and ran up the side of the wall, to a top ledge with a good-size balcony to duck behind.

The rest of them found cover, aside from Luke who stood in the center, arms crossed. Bullets pinged off his skin harmlessly and he laughed, smirking hotly at Zver.

"Tougher stuff," he said, jerking two thumbs toward himself and she bared her teeth at him.

Luke was drawn from their little spat though as Cheliceri bolted out from behind his cover and began a wild dash from structure to structure, narrowly avoiding the bullets zipping around him.

"He's going to make us lose," Disciple said, holding bullets away from him with a glowing blue barrier, almost bored as he watched Cheliceri's progress.

Scorpio's words came back to Luke, filling with him gasoline.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he yelled and sprinted for their stupid leader.

Cheliceri was faster than him in the air, but Luke wasn't about to let that stop him. He ripped a ledge clean off the wall and threw it at Cheliceri, who looked to the side just in time to see it and flip the other way. He landed on a wall below, ducking out as a bullet whizzed past his shoulder. Grunting, he clasped a hand around the skimmed wound which was leaking blood between his fingers.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"We're not losing because of you," Luke told him. "You're not the only who'll get in trouble if we fail. Besides, what happened to sticking together?"

"What happened to wanting me to fight?"

"Get over it!" Novae said as he zipped past and a second later the firing stopped again. Before starting up a second later with Novae flying in the opposite direction. "They've multiplied," He said, scooping Cheliceri up from under his armpits and flying off before either of them had a chance to ask what that meant.

There was a loud  _SWHOOOSH_ followed by BOOOOM that exploded next to Luke. He was blown back several paces, making a large rough dent in the walls where he landed. He got up, heard another  _SWHOOOOSH_ and decided that perhaps it  _was_ time to run.

He followed the blue trail disappearing over the walls, making it to the next open space just as Cheliceri delivered a hard uppercut to Novae's jaw, who finally dropped him.

Novae held his chin, spitting curses as blood speckled on the floor from where he'd bit his lip. Some of it was in a language Luke didn't know, but pieces of it were in English. "…..WAS HELPING….PROTECTING THE FUC…PUNCHED MY JAW….KILL YOU….STUPID EARTHLING…"

But Cheliceri wasn't listening. He'd distanced himself as far from Novae as he could. One hand splayed over his chest, where his breathing was strained and heavy, as the other clamped down around the shaft of a gun on his thigh, just shy of getting pulled out and shot straight into Novae's head.

That had Luke stopping in his steps.

He's never seen Cheliceri act out like that. What was that about?

Through Novae's furious ranting, Cheliceri muttered, low and raspy, "Don't…don't touch me again."

Novae paused his stream of alien curses and glared lasers at him. "What?"

"Don't. Touch. Me. Again." Cheliceri repeated, loud and brittle.  _"Touch me_   _again and I will kill you_."

Everyone in the room froze. The threat would've seemed a little dramatic if he didn't look like he actually meant it. Novae's anger ebbed a little, seeming to catch on Cheliceri's change, and the way he was favoring the firearm strapped to his leg. He still looked irritated, but he turned away quickly wiping the blood from his chin and lips.

Luke caught Disciples inquisitive gaze and shrugged. Don't look at him, he didn't know what was going on.

It was deathly quiet, and Luke didn't know if it was a good idea whether or not he should break the silence.

Fortunately, he didn't have to.

Cheliceri found himself a wall to climb up, sat up near the very top with the gun still held tightly in hand. When his hard breathing had softened, he looked back down at them.

"This isn't working."

"Yeah, no shit!" Novae grumbled, still holding his chin.

Cheliceri ignored him, though the gun twitched in his hand. "We all don't want to be here," he said, "We all don't want to deal with each other. We've been forced into this and we all hate it. Agreed. But if we don't pull it together than it'll just get worse for us."

They all looked down. Luke thought of Scorpio, his anger, the discipline he's worked, beaten, and trained into Luke. He looked back at Cheliceri.

"Let's just get this exercise over with," Cheliceri continued. "Find this artifact so we can go on hating each other till the next exercise we'll be forced to do. Sound good to anyone else?"

"Fine by me," Disciple said.

"Nothing would make me happier," Zver included.

Luke nodded.

"Flarking agreed!" Novae grouched.

Cheliceri scooted down so he was eye-level with them. "Good. I think I have a plan, but you're all going to have to suck it up and work together."

"I will if you will," Zver retorted.

Disciple sighed, "What's the plan? I'm sick of being in here."

Cheliceri dropped down to his feet.

"First things first, we need a distraction…"

* * *

 

* * *

This plan better work.

Luke was crouched behind a wall half his height, just enough so he could peer over the top. Cheliceri's plan was risky, and if it didn't go right it would likely end with them failing and reserving an even worse punishment from their mentors than last time. Something none of them seemed too keen on.

Just thinking about what Scorpio might make him do made his fingers twitch and he had to resist the urge to punch the closest wall to rid himself of the urge to sprint for the artifact as fast as he could.

He reminded himself to stay in position and dug his feet a little harder into the metal to make sure he kept them there. Somewhere ahead of him, Cheliceri was in hiding, and farther away, Novae, Zver, and Disciple. All waiting for the signal.

He only had to wait another minute before the first part began.

Cheliceri crawled along the walls, slow and cautiously as he made sneaky attempts of hiding within the shadows. He was spotted quickly by a silent shot. He jumped off the wall, landing in a crouch on his feet.

He took his bo-staff out just as someone stepped out from behind a wall.

Decked out in white, holding a deadly looking gun in hand, the agent kept a cautionary distance from Cheliceri but kept the nozzle aimed for his chest. Another one stepped out directly behind him, and Cheliceri moved slightly to the side to get a good view of both of them. Which was futile when another member joined the stand-off.

"It's about time you ditched those goons," a voice said from one of the pale, skeletal masks marking them as one of Taskmaster's students. "Didn't think it would take long before you couldn't stand them anymore."

Cheliceri shrugged stiffly, flipping the bo-staff through his fingers to remind them not to get too close.

"Where's your leader, Alpha 8?"

A chuckle from the same agent, "So you  _did_ figure out it was us. You know, I gotta say I was excited when Taskmaster told us we'd be helping break-in your little rag-tag team. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."

Cheliceri didn't reply to that one.

So the agent continued, shifting her hold on her gun. "You know, I should just shoot you know and end this. But Alpha 8 wanted to be the one to end it. Leader killing leader, or something poetic like that."

"I'm sure," Cheliceri replied. "So how about you go get her so we can end this. I have better things to do."

A small laugh rumbled from the three.

"We're not dumb, Cheliceri," another piped, a male judging by his voice. "I think we'll just hold you here for now. Hey, I heard one of your new friends carried you away earlier? How'd that go? Did you break his arm? Crush his nose?" there was a bitter note in his voice. Not enough to make it feel personal, but something that stirred among all of them as a group.

"Still angry I see," Cheliceri muttered. "I warned Alpha 8 and she didn't listen."

"You broke her arm, you asshole," the other agent barked. "Our team was put out from missions for a month because of it!"

"Not my fault if Taskmaster doesn't trust you on solo missions," he shrugged.

Bitter feelings indeed, Luke reflected, watching as the agents quivered in poorly concealed restraint to charge the spider.

Just as Cheliceri said.

" _They hate me,_ " Luke remembered him saying. " _Ever since an incident that happened months ago involving their leader, Alpha 8. She'll be looking to get even."_

Well, he knew his stuff. Luke could give him that.

"I don't have time for this," Cheliceri told them.

"Oh, poor little Parker," the agent cooed. "Always on the run from something."

Cheliceri went very still.

_Parker._

Huh. Was that Cheliceri's name? Luke could imagine Novae above them, hiding his laughs behind his hand. Parker was the last thing he expected. For someone so dark and silent, he expected something equally despondent.

Cheliceri broke his frozen stance, movements suddenly very slow, very careful, and very smooth. He didn't say anything as he slowly lowered his bo-staff so the tip tapped the floor.

There's the signal.

Luke covered his eyes as Novae came soaring from above, zipping right over Cheliceri, and igniting the entire space in a bright, encasing glow. Luke could see the great flash even through his hands and was blinking past spots of color as he jumped out from behind his hiding spot and charged the agents.

Some had dropped their weapons to rub their eyes crazily, blinded from Novae's attack, which meant they didn't see it coming – literally – when he punched the lights clean out of the first one and body-slammed the next. Cheliceri took care of the third, hitting swiftly with his bo-staff and webbing the agent down. He webbed the other two down too, for good measure.

"Novae," he said as soon as the last one was secured, "Did you get a view of the artifact up there?"

"Yeah," Novae said, puffing his chest. "Farther to the right of where we're at now."

Cheliceri jumped up on the wall, crouching up on its ledge, "And Disciple and Zver?"

"Already on their way."

"Good," Cheliceri walked along the edge, looking back at Luke and Novae. "Let's go give them a hand. Alpha 8 won't make it easy on them."

"Yeah," Luke chuckled, "Neither will Zver."

They took off in a run with Novae showing them the way.

Luke could hear the sounds of battle before he saw it. When he rounded the next corner the battle was askew. For the other team anyway. Zver was having a field day among their ranks, attacking agent after agent with vicious speed.

But, given the drop they had, he would admit that the other team was handling it fairly well. Particularly a bigger, meaty looking agent barking orders at her comrades while making a steady journey toward a floating sphere that was glowing red in the corner. Luke could only guess that that was the artifact.

"Dog," Cheliceri said, "That one," he gestured to the big one, "is Alpha 8. She's tough, very skilled, but I think you can handle her. I'm gonna clear a way for you. Get her away from the artifact."

"That," Luke grinned, punching a fist into his open palm, "I can do."

Cheliceri used the wall to spring himself forward, shot several strands of webs that covered a great clutter of agents, and pulled them to the side in a giant, piled heap. Luke took the opening, plowing down any of the ones who escaped the snare and got in his way.

Alpha 8 was only a few feet from the artifact when Luke's fist clumped into the back of her white uniform and threw her back. She rolled with the sudden throw, rolling up onto her feet with two sparking batons in hand.

"Out of my way, little boy," she growled.

Which Luke would've scoffed at if it hadn't been somewhat true. She was bigger up close, thick with muscle, and a good few solid inches taller than him.

She stalked forward a few feet, crossing the batons in fronts of her in a large X. Luke held up his fist, for once glad that he didn't have his mask on. He wanted to see this enemy clearly if he was going to win.

Then, she was running at him.

Luke dodged the baton aimed for his head but wasn't quick enough when she spun back around and kicked him square in the chest. The hit was heavy enough to send him sprawling on the floor, denting the metal under his back. No sooner did he look up was Alpha 8 back over him, whacking him in the face with her baton and sending a tingling thrill through his skin. It was light, but given the fact that he could actually  _feel_ a tingle, must've meant her batons were charged with a near-fatal amount of electric juice.

Luke wondered if that was the reason Cheliceri put him up to fighting Alpha 8. Not because of his physique, but because of his invulnerability.

 _Smart move_ , he thought mildly.

Alpha 8 stepped back, somewhat puzzled when her batons did nothing to harm him. Given a second, she huffed, gripping the long shafts tighter.

"Damn supers," he heard her mutter.

"Yeah," Luke said, getting quickly to his feet. "I actually get that a lot."

He rushed at her, managing to grab one of the batons before it could hit his navel, but the other slipped past him and clonked the side of his head. He grimaced, rolling his eyes, and threw her back. She balanced herself quickly again and instead of throwing another hit, as he expected, she jumped, hooking a hand around his neck which she used to twist herself up on him, curl her body, and body-slam him into the ground.

Now straddling him, pinning his arms to his sides, she started punching him. Luke wasn't sure if  _she_ was super-powered or not cause  _hell_ did she pack a punch! Grunting, unable to see past the blows to his head and throat, Luke bucked, throwing her off balance and quickly took the window to throw her off of him.

She landed on her feet.

" _Damn_ ," he groaned, rubbing his chin, "Why can't you just go down already?"

She chuckled at that, and Luke noticed how she didn't look deterred in the slightest. All aside from the slight tremble in her right arm, she looked completely at ease.

Wait…

Her arm…the one Cheliceri broke….

He smiled back at her. "Uh-oh," he muttered, "I think I just figured out a weakness."

Her eyes narrowed at that and she gripped the batons more tightly as if to prove him wrong. Now that he knew, he saw the way her right arm seemed to hesitate when she moved. It was slower than she left was, it didn't hit as hard.

Maybe she could tell what he was thinking cause Alpha 8 squared herself again, teeth gritting, as her eyes all-but dared him to even  _try._  Their hesitance lasted only a second, then they both ran at each other. Alpha 8 swung at him with her right, feinted the hit, and hit him with her left instead.

Which, yep, still could punch really hard with that one.

But he grabbed it before she could withdraw and squeezed. For the first time since meeting her, Luke saw a glimmer of pain in her expression. Victory was close…

He opened his mouth to gloat, but as soon as his lips parted, she shoved her baton into his mouth and zapped him. Electricity ran up along his mouth, shooting throughout the rest of his body, and Luke dropped, twitching and groaning.

Perhaps victory wasn't as close as he thought.

She stepped over him, eyes furious. She rolled her arm back and he knew this next punch was going to  _really_ hurt. But before she could release it, she suddenly stumbled, as an arm snaked across her throat and the tip of a gun nozzle rested on her temple. Alpha 8 froze.

Cheliceri was behind her, clinging to her back due to her monstrous size, with the tip of his gun digging into her temple. From the ground, Luke would've laughed at Cheliceri having to climb up her back, like some kind of koala, but his laughter died when Alpha 8's anger increased tenfold. Her breathing was heavy and furious as she glared down at Luke as if this was  _his_ fault.

Without saying a word, Cheliceri moved the arm around her neck and opened his palm in front of her face where the glowing red artifact lit up his hand.

"Bang," he deadpanned, bumping the gun into her head. "You're dead." He kicked off her back and landed on the ground.

Slowly, Alpha 8 turned back around, shifting her glare at Chelicer. Then, just as slowly, she nodded, jaw clenched and jerked her head toward her group, all of whom had been either webbed down, injured, or still holding their own against one of Luke's teammates.

They all instantly dropped their stances and followed her silently out of the room, stopping only to untie their comrades and help them out. Cheliceri didn't move until every single one of them left the room, then looked down and, to Luke's miraculous surprise, offered him a hand.

Slowly, hesitant about whether this would end in getting his  _own_ arm snapped, he took it, and Cheliceri hefted him off the ground. He turned away as soon as Luke was back on his feet and stalked toward the exit as well. Just before he was out of earshot, Luke heard him muttered, just loud enough for the group to hear, "Good job," then he disappeared out of the room too.

The rest of them stared at the spot he'd been in, then they followed.

Luke noticed that this was the first time none of them complained about the training exercise.

While he still didn't like the idea of this team thing, and Cheliceri was still a sullen stick-in-the-mud, Luke would admit that this training exercise was a little less…terrible, than normal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, done! BOO-YA! Hallelujah! Got ourselves a little team-work here!
> 
> This was fun. I really like writing their growing dynamic :3
> 
> See you in the next update!


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